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The  Queen  ver 
sus  Billy  and 
Other  Stories 


THE  QUEEN  VER 
SUS  BILLY  AND 
OTHER  STORIES 


By  LLOYD    OSBOURNE 


Charles    Scribner's    Sons 
New  York    .     .     .     .    1900 


Copyright,   iqoo,  by 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


THE  DEVINNE   PRESS. 


Contents 

Page 

The  Queen  versus  Billy 3 

The  Beautiful  Man  of  Pingalap       .          .          .          .          31 

The  Dust  of  Defeat 65 

The  Happiest  Day  of  his  Life         .          .          .          .109 
Father  Zosimus  .          .          .          .          .          .          .127 

Frenchy's  Last  Job 171 

The  Devil's  White  Man 213 

The  Phantom  City 237 

Amatua's  Sailor  .......        287 


M22150 


THE  QUEEN   VERSUS   BILLY 


THE  QUEEN  VERSUS   BILLY 

IT  was  the  Sandfly,  Captain  Toombs,  that  brought 
the  news  to  Sydney  and  intercepted  her  Majesty's 
third-class  cruiser  Stingaree,  as  she  lay  in  Man-of- 
War  Cove,  with  her  boats  hoisted  in  and  a  deck-load 
of  coal  as  high  as  her  bulwarks,  on  the  eve  of  a  long 
trip  into  the  western  Pacific.  It  was  the  same  old 
story — another  white  man  sent  to  his  last  account  in 
the  inhospitable  Solomons,  where  if  the  climate  does 
not  kill  you  the  black  man  soon  will:  "Thomas 
Hysslop  Biggar,  commonly  known  as  '  Captain  Tom 7 ; 
aged  forty-six  j  British  subject ;  occupation,  trader  in 
coprah ;  place  of  residence,  Sunflower  Bay,  island  of 
Guadalcanar;  murdered  by  the  natives  in  September, 
1888,  between  the  7th  and  the  24th,  and  his  station 
looted  and  burned."  There  was  trouble  in  store  for 
Sunflower  Bay;  they  had  killed  Collins  in  1884,  and 
Casseroles  the  Frenchman  in  1887,  and  had  drawn 
upon  themselves  an  ominous  attention  by  firing  into 
the  Meg  Merrilies  in  the  course  of  the  same  year. 
Murder  was  becoming  too  frequent  in  Sunflower 
Bay,  and  Captain  Casement,  while  policing  those 
sweltering  seas,  was  asked  to  "conduct  an  inquiry 
into  the  alleged  murder  of  T.  H.  Biggar,  and  take 
what  punitive  measures  he  judged  to  be  necessary." 
It  was  not  everybody  who  would  have  liked  such  a 


The  Queen  versus  Billy 

«•*».>  »  • 

task;  in  defiling  jtfjth  Ravages  the  innocent  are  too 
of ttsu  .^uiKpeii  •  with;  the  -guilty,  and  while  you  are 
'scattering"  Mfeaih  *and*  'canister  among  the  evil-doers, 
you  are  often  mangling  their  wives  and  children  in  a 
way  horrible  to  think  of.  Captain  Casement  had  seen 
such  things  in  the  course  of  his  eventful  service,  and 
though  no  stickler  where  his  duty  was  concerned,  he 
was  neither  a  brute  nor  a  coward.  He  was  a  simple 
gentleman  of  character,  parts,  and  conscience,  with 
refined  tastes,  and  a  horror  of  shedding  innocent  blood. 
Under  his  command  were  five  officers :  Facey,  acting 
first  lieutenant,  Burder,  acting  second,  Assistant 
Paymaster  Pickthorn,  Engineer  Sennett,  Dr.  Roche, 
ten  marines,  and  a  crew  of  eighty-eight  men. 

After  a  roundabout  cruise  through  the  pleasant 
groups  of  Fiji,  Tongataboo,  and  Samoa,  with  little  to 
occupy  him  save  official  dinners,  tennis  parties,  and  an 
occasional  dance  ashore,  Captain  Casement  headed  his 
ship  for  the  wild  western  islands  and  pricked  out  a 
course  for  Sunflower  Bay.  One  hot  morning,  when 
the  damp,  moist  air  made  everything  sticky  to  the 
touch,  and  the  whole  ship  sweated  like  a  palm-house 
from  stem  to  stern,  the  Stingaree  ran  past  the  tower 
ing  cliffs  and  roaring  breakers  of  Guadalcanar,  and 
let  go  her  anchor  off  the  blow-hole  in  Sunflower  Bay. 
It  was  a  melancholy  spot  to  look  at,  though  beautiful 
in  a  gloomy  and  savage  fashion,  and  the  only  signs 
of  man's  occupancy  were  the  blackened  ruin  of  the 
trader's  house,  a  small  mountain  of  coal  half  covered 
with  creepers,  and  a  flagstaff  surmounted  by  a  skull. 
There  was  no  visible  beach,  for  the  mangroves  ran  to 


The  Queen  versus  Billy 

the  water's  edge,  save  where  it  had  been  partially 
cleared  away  by  the  man  whose  murder  they  had 
come  to  avenge ;  nor  did  the  closest  scrutiny  with  the 
glass  betray  any  telltale  smoke  or  the  least  sign  of 
habitation.  Captain  Casement  surveyed  the  place 
with  his  keen,  practised  eyes,  and  the  longer  he  looked 
the  less  he  liked  it.  The  desolation  jarred  upon  his 
nerves,  and  his  heart  fell  a  little  as  the  blow-hole 
burst  hoarsely  under  the  ship's  quarter,  and  the  ever 
lasting  breakers  on  the  outer  reef  droned  their  note 
of  menace  and  alarm. 

"  Goodness  gracious  !  "  he  said,  in  his  abrupt,  impa 
tient  fashion,  as  he  stood  beside  Facey  on  the  bridge 
and  superintended  the  laying  of  the  kedge.  "  I  don't 
half  like  the  look  of  it,  Mr.  Facey ;  it 's  a  damned  nasty- 
looking  place." 

The  first  lieutenant  nodded.  He  was  a  burly,  inar 
ticulate  man,  to  whom  speech  was  always  a  serious 
matter. 

"  And  see  here,  Facey,"  went  on  the  captain.  "  Guns 
don't  matter  much;  none  of  the  devils  shoot  fit  to 
speak  of;  but  their  poisoned  arrows  are  the  very 
deuce — you  know  that  was  the  way  Goodenough  was 
killed— and  you  must  keep  your  weather  eye  lifting." 

"  Am  I  to  go,  sir  ?  "  asked  the  lieutenant. 

"  Yes,"  said  Casement.  "  You  must  take  Pickthorn 
and  twenty-five  men  in  the  first  cutter.  Send  Burder 
in  the  second,  with  twenty  more,  to  cover  your  landing. 
And  for  God's  sake,  Facey,  keep  cool,  and  neither  get 
flustered  nor  over-friendly !  Don't  shoot  unless  you 
have  to;  and  always  remember  they  are  the  most 


The  Queen  versus  Billy 

treacherous  savages  in  the  world.  Be  gentle  and  firm, 
and  do  everything  with  as  little  fuss  and  as  great  a 
show  of  confidence  as  you  can." 

"  All  right,  sir/7  said  Facey. 

Half  an  hour  later,  Facey,  with  twenty-five  well- 
armed  men,  had  vanished  into  the  mangroves,  while 
Burder  and  his  crew  lay  forty  yards  off  the  shore  in 
the  second  cutter,  the  officer  devouring  "  Under  Two 
Flags,"  and  the  men  smoking  and  yarning  in  the 
bottom  of  the  boat.  On  the  Stingaree  two  light  guns 
were  cast  loose  and  made  ready  to  open  fire  at  a  mo 
ment's  notice,  and  a  lookout  man  was  stationed  in  the 
maintop.  The  doctor  busied  himself  in  dismal  prepa 
ration,  while  the  captain  paced  the  bridge  with  quick 
and  anxious  steps,  fretting  for  the  safety  of  his  party 
ashore. 

Hour  after  hour  passed  and  brought  never  a  sound 
from  the  melancholy  woods.  The  fierce  sun  mounted 
to  the  zenith  and  sank  again  into  the  western  sky. 
Casement  was  beside  himself  with  suspense ;  a  cup  of 
tea  served  him  for  lunch,  and  he  smoked  one  cigar 
after  another.  A  deep  foreboding  brooded  over  the 
ship ;  the  men  sat  or  walked  uneasily  about  the  waist  j 
the  maintop  was  clustered  with  anxious  blue- jackets ; 
and  old  Quinn,  the  gunner,  a  half-crazy  zealot  whose 
religious  convictions  were  of  the  extremest  order, 
pattered  off  prayers  beside  the  shotted  guns.  Towards 
five  o'clock,  when  things  were  looking  desperate  and 
all  began  to  fear  the  very  worst,  a  sudden  shout 
roused  the  ship,  and  the  shore  party,  noisy  and  tri 
umphant,  were  seen  streaming  down  to  the  beach.  A 


The  Queen  versus  Billy 

few  moments  later  the  two  boats  pulled  slowly  off  to 
the  ship,  Facey's  company  the  richer  by  a  black  man, 
whose  costume  consisted  of  little  more  than  the  ropes 
he  was  bound  with.  A  thundering  cheer  hailed  them 
as  they  swept  under  the  stern  and  drew  up  at  the 
starboard  gangway,  and  Facey  was  soon  reporting 
himself  on  the  bridge. 

"  I  can't  tell  you  what  a  relief  it  is  to  see  you,"  said 
the  captain.  "  I  would  n't  pass  another  such  day  for 
a  thousand  pounds !  n 

Facey  was  dog-tired,  and  his  tattered  clothes  and 
scratched  face  gave  evidence  of  a  toilsome  march. 
But  he  was  in  a  boisterous  good  humour.  He  had 
acquitted  himself  with  marked  success,  and  was  thank 
ful  to  have  brought  back  his  party  and  himself  safe 
and  sound. 

"  Well,  how  did  you  make  out  ? "  asked  the  captain. 

"  We  landed  at  the  trader's  house,"  began  Facey, 
"followed  a  path  that  led  inland,  and  reached  some 
Kanaka  huts.  Not  a  soul  in  'em ;  clean  gone,  every 
man  jack.  Followed  along  a  well  beaten  path  which 
led  us  into  the  next  bay,  bearing  north-northeast 
half-east,  keeping  the  liveliest  lookout  all  the  time. 
Three  miles  along  we  ran  into  another  village,  chock- 
a-block  with  niggers.  It  looked  a  nasty  go ;  lots  of 
guns  and  spears,  and  everybody  pretty  skittish,  kind 
of  they  would  and  they  would  n't !  I  recollected  your 
orders  and  went  slow ;  you  know  what  I  mean,  sir- 
worked  off  the  presents,  and  smoked  my  pipe  leisurely. 
By  and  by  they  came  round,  tricky  as  the  devil,  on  to 
make  friends  or  to  eat  us  alive,  whichever  seemed  the 


The  Queen  versus  Billy 

more  promising.  I  let  out  what  I  wanted,  and  bit  by 
bit  found  out  that  all  the  Sunflower  Bay  crowd  were 
there,  even  to  old  Jibberik,  the  chief —him  Toombs 
said  was  the  biggest  scoundrel  of  the  lot.  He  looked 
pretty  sick  and  knew  mighty  well  what  we  were  after. 
I  talked  broadsides  to  that  old  man,  and  put  it  to  him 
that  he  had  better  give  up  the  chaps  who  had  killed 
the  trader  than  waltz  back  to  the  ship  and  be  shot 
instanter  himself— for  somebody  had  to  go,  I  said; 
and  just  as  soon  as  I  got  the  old  codger  alongside  of 
me  I  gave  him  to  understand  that  he  was  my  bird, 
and  kept  my  cocked  pistol  pointed  at  his  belly.  After 
no  end  of  a  fuss,  and  lots  of  frothing  and  loud  talk, 
with  things  looking  precious  ugly  now  and  again,  we 
ended  by  coming  out  on  top.  Then  they  dragged 
along  a  young  nigger  named  Billy,  a  returned  labour- 
boy  from  the  Queensland  plantations,  they  said,  and 
handed  him  over  to  me  as  the  murderer.  I  thought 
it  was  more  than  likely  they  'd  give  us  some  cheap 
nigger  they  had  no  use  for,  or  some  worn-out  old  cus 
tomer,  as  they  did  in  Pentecost  to  Dewar  of  the  Royal 
ist;  but  I  think  this  Billy  was  all  right.  A  lot  of  nig 
gers—Billy's  own  push,  I  suppose— looked  as  black  as 
fits  and  would  n't  come  round  for  a  long  time.  Then 
I  lashed  the  prisoner's  hands  and  tied  him  to  one  of 
oirr  men,  and  talked  pretty  straight  to  Jib.  I  made 
him  promise  he  'd  bring  his  people  back  at  once,  and 
be  down  on  the  beach,  himself  and  two  others,  to-mor 
row  morning  to  give  evidence  against  Billy." 

"  You  've  done  well,  Mr.  Facey,"  said  Casement,  as 
his  lieutenant  drew  to  a  close,  "  and  I  tell  you  the 

8 


The  Queen  versus  Billy- 
story  sha'n't  lose  when  I  report  it  to  the  admiral. 
You  had  better  go  now  and  get  your  clothes  off/'  he 
added. 

Facey  jumped  to  his  feet.  "  I  am  sure  I  am  awfully 
obliged  to  you,  sir/'  he  said. 

"  Ugh,  that 's  all  right/'  said  Casement,  in  his  testy 
way.  "  What  have  you  done  with  the  prisoner  ? " 

"  Turned  him  over  to  the  sergeant  for  safe-keeping, 
sir/'  returned  the  officer. 

"  Leg-irons  ?  "  asked  Casement. 

"  Leg-irons,  handcuffs,  and  a  dog-chain,"  returned 
Facey,  with  a  grin.  "  He  's  cost  too  much  to  take  any 
chances  of  his  getting  off." 

The  first  thing  next  morning,  old  Jibberik  was 
brought  aboard  with  his  two  companions.  He  was  a 
disgusting  old  gorilla  of  a  man,  with  a  hairy  chest  and 
a  cold,  leering  eye— a  mere  scarecrow  of  humanity, 
of  a  type  incredibly  cruel  and  debased.  He  had 
worked  up  enough  courage  overnight  to  beg  for 
everything  within  sight,  and  he  fingered  the  clothes 
and  accoutrements  of  the  seamen  like  a  greedy  child. 
His  two  friends  were  not  a  whit  behind  him,  either  in 
manners  or  appearance.  They  clicked  and  chattered 
like  monkeys,  and  showed  extraordinary  fearlessness 
in  that  armed  ship  amid  the  swarming  whites ;  the  only 
man  they  seemed  to  dread  was  old  Jibberik  himself ; 
and  they  wilted  under  his  piercing  glance  like  flowers  in 
the  sun,  whenever  his  baleful  attention  fell  their  way. 

Four  bells  was  the  time  set  for  the  court  martial ; 
at  nine  o'clock  Casement  sent  for  Facey  and  told  him 
he  must  prepare  to  defend  the  prisoner. 


The  Queen  versus  Billy 

"Burder  will  prosecute  for  the  Queen/'  he  said. 
"  Pickthorn  will  act  as  clerk.  Sennett,  Roche,  and  I 
will  compose  the  court." 

The  first  lieutenant  was  overcome.  "  I  don't  think 
I  can,  sir,"  he  said  feebly.  "  I  never  did  such  a  thing 
in  my  life  j  I  would  n't  know  where  to  begin,  or  to 
leave  off,  for  that  matter." 

"  You  can  leave  off  when  we  hang  your  prisoner," 
Casement  returned,  with  his  bull-doggish  air.  "Of 
course,  it  's  all  a  damned  farce,"  he  went  on.  "  Some 
body  's  got  to  act  for  the  nigger  j  it  7s  printed  that  way 
in  the  book." 

"  1 11  move  for  an  adjournment,"  said  Facey. 

"I  '11  be  hanged  if  you  will,"  said  the  captain. 
"  It  's  a  beastly  business,  and  we  have  got  to  put  it 
through." 

Facey  groaned. 

"  Well,  do  you  think  I  like  it  1 "  said  Casement. 

The  lieutenant  saluted  and  walked  away  to  find  his 
prisoner. 

Billy  was  clanking  his  chains  in  a  canvas  hutch 
alongside  the  sick-bay,  where  a  man  lay  dying.  He 
looked  up  as  Facey  approached,  and  his  face  bright 
ened  as  he  recognised  his  captor.  He  was  a  good- 
looking  young  negro,  and  the  symmetry  of  his  limbs, 
and  his  air  of  intelligence  and  capacity,  stood  out  in 
pleasant  contrast  with  the  rest  of  his  comrades  in 
Sunflower  Bay. 

"  Billy,"  said  Facey,  "  they  are  going  to  make  judge 
and  jury  for  you  by  and  by ;  and  I  am  to  talky-talky 
for  you." 

IO 


The  Queen  versus  Billy 

"  All  same  Queensland,"  returned  Billy.  "  May  the 
Lord  have  mercy  on  your  sinful  soul !  " 

Facey  was  stupefied.  "  Where  in  thunder  did  you 
learn  that  ? n  he  demanded. 

"  Oh,  me  savvy  too  much,"  said  Billy. 

"  Now,  see  here,"  said  the  lieutenant.  "  You  did  n't 
kiU  that  trader?" 

"  Yes,  I  kill  him,"  said  Billy,  cheerfully. 

"You  did?"  cried  the  other. 

"White  fellow  no  good;  I  kill  him,"  said  the 
prisoner. 

"  If  you  tell  that  to  the  captain  he  '11  shoot  you," 
said  Facey.  If  the  prisoner  was  to  be  defended  he  was 
going  to  give  him  all  the  help  he  could. 

The  black  boy  looked  distressed  and  nodded  a  for 
lorn  assent. 

"  You  '11  be  a  big  fool  to  say  that,"  said  Facey. 

"  White  fellow  no  good  ;  I  kill  him,"  repeated  Billy 

"You  unmitigated  idiot,  you  '11  do  for  yourself," 
cried  the  lieutenant,  angrily.  "  What 's  the  good  of 
my  talking  for  you  if  you  can't  stand  up  for  yourself  ? '' 

Billy  began  to  whimper ;  the  other's  loud  voice  and 
threatening  demeanour  seemed  to  overwhelm  him. 

Facey  was  struck  with  contrition.  "  Now  shut  up 
that  snivelling,"  he  said,  more  kindly.  "  Tell  me  the 
truth,  Bill.  Is  n't  this  some  humbuggery  of  old  Jib's 
—a  regular  plant,  to  shield  somebody  else  at  the  cost 
of  your  hide  ?  " 

Billy  rolled  his  eyes,  and  wiped  away  the  tears  with 
a  grimy  paw. 

"White  fellow  no  good;  I  kill-" 

I  I 


The  Queen  versus  Billy 

"  You  be  damned !  "  cried  his  legal  adviser. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  court  martial  was  assembled  on 
the  quarter-deck.  The  captain,  with  his  brawny 
shoulders  thrown  forward,  and  his  hands  deep  in  his 
trouser  pockets,  had  all  the  air  of  a  man  in  the  throes 
of  indigestion.  On  either  side  of  him  were  Sennett  and 
Roche  j  and  in  front,  beside  a  table  covered  with  a 
flag,  was  Pickthorn,  with  a  clerkly  outfit  and  a  Bible. 
Billy  stood  in  chains  beside  a  couple  of  marines,  look 
ing  extremely  depressed.  The  old  gorillas,  their  filthy 
kilts  bulging  with  what  they  had  begged  or  pilfered, 
were  in  charge  of  the  sergeant,  who  had  all  he  could 
do  to  prevent  their  spitting  on  the  deck. 

Facey  was  the  first  one  sworn.  He  deposed  as  to 
the  capture  and  identity  of  the  prisoner.  Then  Billy 
was  led  up  to  the  table  and  told  to  plead. 

"  Kiss  the  book  and  say  whether  you  murdered  the 
trader  or  not,"  said  the  captain. 

"  White  fellow  no  good ;  I  kill  him,"  quavered  the 
prisoner. 

"  Pleads  guilty,"  said  Casement  to  the  clerk. 

"What  did  you  do  it  for?"  demanded  the  court. 

Billy  reiterated  his  stock  phrase. 

"  Take  him  away,"  said  the  captain. 

Jibberik  was  the  next  witness.  He  kissed  the  book 
as  though  it  were  his  long-lost  brother,  and  looked 
almost  unabashed  enough  to  beg  it  of  Pickthorn.  I 
shall  not  weary  the  reader  with  his  laboured  English, 
that  lingua  Franca  of  the  isles  which  in  the  Western 
Pacific  is  known  as  Beach  da  Mar.  He  told  a  pretty 
plain  story :  Billy  and  the  trader  had  always  been  on 

12 


The  Queen  versus  Billy 

bad  terms.  One  night,  crazy  with  palm-toddy,  Billy  had 
sneaked  down  to  Captain  Tom's  house  and  shot  him 
through  the  body  as  he  was  reading  a  book  at  supper. 
As  to  the  subsequent  burning  and  looting  of  the  sta 
tion  the  old  savage  was  none  so  clear,  sheltering  him 
self  in  the  unintelligibility  of  which  he  was  a  master. 
His  two  companions  followed  suit,  and  drew  the  noose 
a  little  tighter  round  Billy's  throat. 

Then  rose  Burder  for  the  Queen.  He  was  a  cheeky 
youngster,  with  pink  cheeks,  a  glib  tongue,  and  no 
end  of  assurance. 

"  I  don't  propose  to  waste  the  time  of  the  honourable 
court,"  he  began ;  "  but  if  ever  there  was  a  flat-footed, 
self-confessed  murderer,  I  would  say  it  is  the  dusky 
gentleman  in  the  dock.  The  blood  of  Biggar  cries 
aloud  for  vengeance,  and  it  would  be  a  shame  if  it 
cried  in  vain,"  he  said.  He  would  point  to  that  dreary 
ruin  of  which  the  defunct  had  been  the  manly  orna 
ment,  radiating  civilisation  round  him  like  a  candle 
in  the  dark,  and  then  to  that  black  monster,  who  had 
felled  him  down.  This  kind  of  thing  had  got  to  stop 
in  the  Solomon  Islands ;  the  natives  were  losing  all 
respect  for  whites,  and  he  put  it  to  the  court  whether 
they  would  not  jeopardise  the  life  of  the  new  trader 
if  they  acquitted  the  murderer  of  the  old.  Now  that 
they  had  got  their  hand  in,  he  would  go  even  further, 
and  hang  up  with  Billy  the  three  witnesses  for  the 
prosecution,  old  Jib  and  the  other  brace  of  jossers, 
who  had  villain  and  cutthroat  stamped— 

"  Stick  to  the  prisoner,"  cried  the  court. 

"  I  bow  to  correction,  sir,"  went  on  Burder.    "  I  say 

«3 


The  Queen  versus  Billy 

again,  this  is  no  time  for  half -measures  j  and  I  say 
that  Sunflower  Bay  will  be  a  better  place  to  live  in 
without  Mr.  Billy.  I  leave  it  to  the  honourable  court, 
with  every  confidence,  to  vindicate  justice  in  these 
islands  by  condemning  the  prisoner  to  the  extreme 
penalty  of  the  law.  The  case  for  the  Queen  is  closed, 
gentlemen." 

"  I  believe  you  appear  for  the  defence,  Mr.  Facey  ? " 
said  Casement,  as  the  Queen's  prosecutor  took  his 
seat. 

"  I  do,  sir,"  returned  the  first  lieutenant,  nervously. 

11 1  should  like  to  say,  first  of  all,"  he  began,  "  that 
I  will  not  cross-examine  these  dirty  old  savages  who 
have  given  evidence  against  my  client.  I  quite  agree 
with  everything  my  honourable  friend  has  said  regard 
ing  them,  and  I  cannot  think  that  the  court  will  attach 
undue  importance  to  any  evidence  they  may  have 
given.  We  Ve  been  told  that  the  Kanakas  are  losing 
all  respect  for  whites,  and  that  if  we  don't  take  some 
strong  measures  there  will  be  the  deuce  to  pay  in  these 
islands.  Perhaps  there  will  be ;  but  is  that  the  British 
justice  we  're  so  proud  of,  or  is  it  fair  play,  gentlemen, 
to  the  unfortunate  wretch  who  is  trembling  before 
you?  From  what  I  've  seen  of  the  whites  in  this 
group,  I  can  say  emphatically  that  I  'm  in  a  line  with 
the  Kanakas.  Now,  as  to  this  Billy :  What  is  there 
against  him  but  his  own  confession?  and  that,  I  beg 
leave  to  point  out,  ought  not  to  be  taken  as  conclusive. 
As  like  as  not  he  is  the  scapegoat  for  the  whole  bay, 
and  has  been  coached  up  to  tell  this  story  under  the 
screw.  Just  look  one  moment  at  old  Jib  there,  and 

14 


The  Queen  versus  Billy 

see  how  his  friends  wither  when  his  eyes  fall  their  way. 
For  all  we  know  to  the  contrary,  his  gibberish  and 
click-click  may  be  to  the  tune  of  *  Billy,  you  son  of  a 
gun,  1 11  cut  you  into  forty  pieces,  or  flay  you  alive  if 
you  don't  stick  to  what  I  've  told  you.'  After  all,  what 
have  we  learned  from  Billy  ?  Nothing  more  than  this : 
'  White  fellow  no  good  j  I  kill  him.'  Is  that  what  any 
body  would  call  a  full  confession  ?  Does  it  give  any 
clew  or  any  details  as  to  the  motive  or  the  carrying 
out  of  this  murder  ?  It  may  be,  indeed,  that  Billy  is 
a  monomaniac  with  a  confirmed  delusion  that  he  has 
killed  Biggar ;  the  court  may  smile,  but  I  think  I  am 
right  in  stating  that  such  things  have  occurred  and 
have  even  led  to  miscarriages  of  justice  in  the  past.  I 
tell  you,  gentlemen,  I  believe  it  was  the  whole  bloom 
ing  bay  that  killed  Biggar,  and  that  Billy  was  just  as 
guilty  or  just  as  innocent  as  the  rest.  And  there  is 
one  thing  I  feel  mortal  sure  about :  that  if  we  take  the 
prisoner  outside  the  heads  we  will  soon  get  the  gag 
off  his  mouth,  and  learn  a  good  deal  more  about  this 
ugly  business.  Under  old  Jib's  search-light  he  's  got 
to  keep  a  close  lip  j  but  take  him  out  to  sea,  and  I 
answer  for  it  he  won't  be  so  reticent.  In  conclusion, 
gentlemen,  I  say  again  that  the  evidence  in  this  case 
is  inconclusive ;  that  the  honourable  gentleman  who 
has  appeared  for  the  Queen  has  failed  to  make  out  a 
convincing  case  against  my  client  j  that  Billy's  confes 
sion  in  itself  is  not  a  sufficient  proof  that  he  com 
mitted  the  crime  charged  against  him  j  and  that  we 
cannot  take  the  life  of  a  human  being  on  such  flimsy 
and  unsupported  evidence." 

15 


The  Queen  versus  Billy 

A  dead  silence  fell  upon  the  court  when  Facey  drew 
his  case  to  a  close  and  resumed  his  seat.  Nothing 
could  be  heard  but  the  scratching  of  Pickthorn's  pen 
and  the  reverberating  growl  of  the  blow-hole  as  it 
fretted  and  fumed  within  for  the  screaming  blast 
which  was  soon  to  follow.  Casement  rammed  his 
hands  deeper  into  his  pockets,  gnawed  his  tawny  mus 
tache,  and  protruded  his  chin.  At  last,  with  a  start, 
he  awoke  from  his  reverie,  and  barked  out : 

"  Mr.  Sennett,  as  the  youngest  member,  it  is  for 
you  to  speak  first." 

"  I  think  he  's  guilty,  sir,"  said  Sennett. 

Casement  turned  his  quick  glance  on  Roche. 

"  Same  here,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  The  finding  of  the  court,"  said  the  captain  after 
another  pause,  "  is  that  the  prisoner  Billy  is  guilty 
of  the  murder  of  T.  H.— what's  his  name?— Biggar, 
at  Sunflower  Bay,  on  the  blank  day  of  September, 
1888,  and  is  condemned  to  be  shot  as  an  example  to 
the  island.  Sentence  to  be  deferred  until  I  get  the 
ship  back  from  New  Ireland,  where  I  've  to  look  into 
that  Carbutt  business  and  the  outrage  at  MacCarthy's 
Inlet,  on  the  chance  of  the  prisoner  making  a  fur 
ther  confession  and  implicating  others  in  his  crime. 
The  court  is  dismissed." 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir,"  said  Pickthorn,  looking  up  from 
his  writing  as  the  others  rose  to  their  feet.  "  What 
am  I  to  call  the  case?— the  Queen  versus  Billy  what?" 

"  Billy  nothing,"  said  the  captain,  savagely.  "  Call 
him  William  Pickthorn  if  you  think  it  sounds  better." 

The  verdict  of  the  court  was  explained  to  Jibberik, 

16 


The  Queen  versus  Billy 

and  the  old  rogue  and  his  pair  of  friends  were  landed 
in  the  cove,  the  boat  returning  to  find  the  ship  with 
anchor  weighed  and  the  loosened  sails  napping  on  the 
yards.  In  a  few  minutes  she  was  steaming  out  to 
sea,  and  every  one  grew  confident  that  Billy's  tongue 
would  soon  wag  as  he  saw  Sunflower  Bay  dwindle 
behind  him.  But  the  dogged  savage  stuck  to  his 
tale;  he  had  but  one  reply  to  all  inquiries,  to  all 
probing  and  pumping  for  further  particulars  of  the 
murder.  On  his  side  the  conversation  began  and 
ended  with :  "  White  fellow  no  good ;  I  kill  him." 
On  other  topics  he  could  be  drawn  out  at  will,  and 
proved  himself  a  most  tractable,  sweet-tempered,  and 
far  from  unintelligent  fellow.  The  men  got  to  like 
him  immensely,  keeping  him  in  perpetual  tobacco 
and  providing  him  with  more  grog  than  was  quite 
good  for  him.  In  the  fo'castle  it  was  rank  heresy  to 
call  him  a  murderer  or  to  express  any  doubts  regard 
ing  his  innocence.  He  became  at  once  the  pet  and 
the  mystery  of  the  ship,  and  his  canvas  cell  the  rally- 
ing-point  for  all  the  little  gaieties  on  board.  He 
played  cards  well,  was  an  apt  pupil  on  the  accordion, 
and  at  checkers  he  was  the  master  of  the  ship !  And 
he  not  only  beat  you,  but  he  beat  you  handsomely, 
shaking  hands  before  and  after  the  event,  like  a  prize 
fighter  in  the  ring. 

Casement  felt  very  uneasy  about  the  boy ;  he  grew 
more  and  more  uncomfortable  at  heart,  and  it  was 
the  talk  of  the  ship  that  the  problem  of  Billy  was 
weighing  on  the  "  old  man  "  like  a  hundredweight  of 
bricks.  The  whole  business  preyed  upon  him  uuceas- 


The  Queen  versus  Billy 

ingly  and  he  dreaded  each  passing  day  that  brought 
the  execution  ever  nearer.  Billy  kept  him  sleepless  in 
the  steaming  nights ;  Billy  faced  him  like  a  spectre  at 
his  solitary  board ;  Billy's  face  blurred  the  pages  of 
the  books  and  magazines  he  had  laid  up  for  these 
dreary  days  in  the  Solomons.  Casement  visited  his 
prisoner  twice  a  day,  against  the  better  judgment  that 
bade  him  keep  away  and  try  to  forget  him.  He  never 
said  much  after  his  first  two  ineffectual  attempts  to 
wrestle  with  Billy's  stereotyped  phrase  and  to  extort 
further  information ;  but,  chewing  a  cigar,  he  would 
stare  the  black  creature  out  of  countenance  for  ten 
minutes  at  a  time,  with  a  look  of  the  strongest  annoy 
ance  and  disfavor,  as  though  his  patience  could  not 
much  longer  withstand  the  strain. 

The  officers  were  not  a  whit  behind  their  captain. 
Billy's  artless  ways  and  boundless  good  humour  had 
won  the  whole  ward-room  to  his  side ;  and  his  grim 
determination  to  die,  at  once  bewildered  and  exasper 
ated  every  soul  on  board.  The  strange  spectacle 
offered  of  a  hundred  men  at  work  to  persuade  their 
prisoner  to  recall  his  damning  confession,  and  on  pins 
and  needles  to  save  him  from  a  fate  he  himself  seemed 
not  to  fear.  The  captain  as  good  as  told  Facey  that 
if  the  boy  would  assert  his  innocence  he  would 
scarcely  venture  to  shoot  him ;  and  this  intelligence 
Facey  handed  on  to  his  client,  and,  incidentally,  to 
the  whole  ship's  company.  Never  was  a  criminal  so 
beset.  Every  man  on  board  tried  in  his  turn  to  shake 
Billy's  obstinacy,  and  to  paint,  in  no  uncertain  colours, 
the  dreadful  fate  the  future  held  in  store  for  him. 

18 


The  Queen  versus  Billy 

One  and  all  they  retired  discomfited,  some  with 
curses,  others  on  the  verge  of  tears.  They  swore  at 
him  for  a  fool ;  they  cajoled  him  as  they  would  a 
child  j  they  acted  out  his  last  end  with  all  fidelity  to 
detail,  even  to  a  firing  platoon  saying  "  Bang,  bang !  " 
in  dreadful  unison,  while  a  couple  of  seamen  made 
Billy  roll  the  deck  in  agony.  The  black  boy  would 
shudder  and  wipe  his  frightened  eyes  j  but  his  forti 
tude  was  unshaken. 

"  White  fellow  no  good ;  I  kill  him." 

Then  old  Quinn  got  after  him — wild-eyed,  tangle- 
haired  old  Quinn,  the  gunner,  who  was  half  cracked 
on  religion.  He  prayed  and  blubbered  beside  the 
wretched  boy,  overwhelming  him  with  red-hot  appeals 
and  perfervid  oratory.  Billy  became  an  instant  con 
vert,  and  got  to  love  old  Quinn  as  a  dog  his  master. 
There  was  no  more  card-playing  in  Billy's  cell,  no 
more  rum  or  tobacco ;  even  checkers  fell  under  the 
iron  ban  of  old  Quinn,  to  whom  every  enjoyment  was 
hateful.  Billy  learned  hymns  instead,  and  would 
beguile  the  weary  sentry  on  the  watch  with  his  tune 
ful  rendering  of  "Go  Bury  thy  Sorrow,"  or  " Nearer, 
my  God,  to  Thee."  He  was  possessed,  too,  of  a  Bible 
that  Quinn  gave  him,  from  which  the  old  gunner 
would  read,  in  his  strident,  overbearing  voice,  the 
sweet  gospel  of  charity  and  good  will.  But  if  old 
Quinn  accomplished  much,  he  ran,  as  they  all  ran 
at  last,  into  that  stone  wall  of  words  which  Billy 
raised  against  the  world.  Contrition  for  the  murder 
which  had  doomed  him  to  die  was  what  Billy  would 
not  show  or  profess  in  any  way  to  feel.  Rant  though 


The  Queen  versus  Billy 

old  Quinn  might,  and  beseech  on  bended  knees,  with 
his  eyes  burning  and  his  great  frame  shaking  with 
agitation,  he  could  extort  from  his  convert  no  other 
answer  than  the  one  which  all  knew  so  well.  Billy's 
eyes  would  snap  and  his  mouth  harden. 

"  White  fellow  no  good ;  I  kill  him." 

As  the  days  passed,  and  the  ship  made  her  way  from 
bay  to  bay,  from  island  to  island,  in  the  course  of  her 
policing  cruise  among  those  lawless  whites  and  more 
than  savage  blacks,  the  captain  grew  desperate  with 
the  problem  of  Billy.  They  all  said  that  Casement 
looked  ten  years  older,  and  that  something  would  soon 
happen  to  the  "  old  man  n  if  Billy  did  not  soon  skip 
out ;  and  the  "  old  man  "  showed  all  the  desire  in  the 
world  to  bring  about  so  desirable  a  consummation. 
Billy  was  accorded  every  liberty ;  his  chains  had  long 
been  things  of  the  past,  and  no  sentinel  now  guarded 
him  in  his  cell  or  watched  him  periodically  in  his  sleep. 
Billy  was  free  to  go  where  he  would ;  and  it  was  the 
fervent  hope  of  all  that  he  would  lose  no  time  in  mak 
ing  his  way  ashore.  But  though  Casement  stopped 
at  half  a  hundred  villages,  and  laid  the  ship  as  close 
ashore  as  he  dared  risk  her,  still,  for  the  life  of  him, 
Billy  would  not  budge.  Then  they  thought  him 
afraid  of  sharks,  which  are  plentiful  in  those  seas,  and 
kept  the  dinghy  at  the  gangway,  in  defiance  of  every 
regulation,  in  the  hope  that  the  prisoner  would  deign 
to  use  it.  But  Billy  showed  no  more  desire  to  quit 
the  ship  than  Casement  himself,  or  old  Quinn. 
He  did  the  honours  of  the  man-of-war  to  visiting 
chiefs,  and  seemed  to  be  proud  of  his  assured  posi- 

2O 


The  Queen  versus  Billy 

tion  on  board.  Go  ashore?  Escape?  Not  for 
worlds ! 

Then  the  captain  determined  upon  new  measures. 
He  passed  a  hint  to  Facey,  and  Facey  passed  it  to  the 
mess,  and  the  mess  to  the  blue-jackets,  that  they  were 
making  things  too  comfortable  for  their  prisoner. 
For  a  while  Billy's  easy  life  came  to  an  abrupt  conclu 
sion.  His  best  friends  began  to  kick  and  cuff  him 
without  mercy.  He  was  rope's-ended  by  the  bo'sun's 
mate,  and  the  cook  threw  boiling  water  over  his  naked 
skin.  The  boy's  heart  almost  broke  at  this,  and  he 
went  about  dejected  and  unhappy  for  the  first  time 
since  he  had  come  aboard.  But  no  harsh  usage,  no 
foul  words,  could  drive  him  to  desert  the  ship.  He 
stuck  to  it  like  a  barnacle,  for  all  the  captain  spun  out 
the  cruise  to  an  unconscionable  length  and  stopped  at 
all  sorts  of  places  that  offered  a  favorable  landing  for 
the  prisoner.  But  if  Billy  grew  sad  and  moody  under 
the  stress  of  whippings  and  bad  words,  it  was  as 
nothing  to  the  change  in  Casement  himself,  who 
turned  daily  greyer  and  more  haggard  as  he  pricked 
a  course  back  to  Sunflower  Bay.  Of  course,  he  main 
tained  a  decent  reserve  all  along,  and  betrayed,  in 
words  at  least,  not  a  sign  of  his  consuming  anxiety  to 
rid  himself  of  Billy.  But  at  last  even  his  iron  front 
broke  down.  It  was  on  the  bridge,  to  Facey,  when 
the  ship  had  just  dropped  anchor  in  Port  McGuire,  not 
forty  miles  from  Sunflower  Bay. 

"Mr.  Facey,"  he  said,  "send  Mr.  Burder  ashore 
with  an  armed  party  j  tell  him  just  to  show  himself 
a  bit  and  come  off  again." 

21 


The  Queen  versus  Billy 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Facey. 

"  I  am  thinking  they  might  take  that  fellow  Billy  to 
translate  for  them,"  he  went  on,  shamefacedly. 

The  first  lieutenant  turned  to  go. 

"Hold  on,"  said  the  captain,  suddenly  lowering  his 
voice  and  drawing  his  subordinate  close  to  him. 
"Just  you  pass  it  on  to  Burder  that  I  would  n't 
skin  him  alive— you  know  what  I  mean— if— well, 
suppose  that  black  fellow  cut  his  lucky  altogether—" 

Facey  smiled. 

"  Of  course,"  rasped  out  the  captain,  "  I  can't  toler 
ate  any  dereliction  of  duty;  but  if  the  young  devil 
made  a  break  for  it—" 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir,"  returned  the  first  lieutenant,  and 
darted  down  the  brass  steps  three  at  a  time.  He 
called  Burder  aside  and  gave  his  instructions  to  that 
discreet  youngster,  who  was  sharp  to  see  the  point 
without  the  need  for  awkward  explanations.  A  broad 
grin  ran  round  the  boat  when  Billy  was  made  to 
descend  and  take  his  place  beside  Burder  in  the  stern ; 
and  so  palpable  and  open  was  the  whole  business 
that  some  aboard  even  shook  the  negro  by  the  hand 
and  bade  him  God-speed. 

A  couple  of  hours  later  Burder  embarked  again  and 
headed  for  the  ship  in  a  tearing  hurry.  A  chuckle 
ran  along  the  decks  as  not  a  sign  of  Billy  could  be 
made  out,  and  the  nearing  boat  soon  put  the  last 
doubt  at  rest.  There  was  no  black  boy  among  the 
blue- jackets. 

Burder  skipped  up  the  steps  and  saluted  the  cap 
tain  on  the  bridge. 

22 


The  Queen  versus  Billy 

"  I  have  to  report  the  escape  of  Billy,  sir,"  he  said, 
with  inimitable  gravity  and  assurance.  "I  scarcely 
know  how  it  came  to  happen,  sir,  but  he  managed  to 
bolt  as  he  was  walking  between  Miller  and  Cracroft." 

"  This  is  a  very  serious  matter,"  said  the  captain, 
with  ill-concealed  cheerfulness.  "I  don't  know  but 
what  it  is  my  duty  to  reprimand  you  very  severely  for 
your  carelessness.  However,  if  he  's  gone,  he 's  gone, 
I  suppose.  I  hope  you  took  measures  to  recapture 
him?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  returned  Burder.  "Looked  for  him 
high  and  low,  sir." 

"  Poor  Billy !  "  said  the  captain,  with  a  smile  that 
spoke  volumes.  "  We  11  say  no  more  about  it,  Mr. 
Burder;  it  may  be  all  for  the  best;  but  remember, 
sir,  it  must  n't  happen  again." 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Burder. 

"  How  did  you  manage  it,  old  man  ?  "  was  the  eager 
question  that  met  the  youngster  as  he  took  shelter  in 
the  ward-room  and  ordered  "  a  beer."  All  his  mess 
mates  were  round  him,  save  Facey,  who  was  officer 
of  the  deck  and  could  not  do  more  than  hang  in  the 
doorway. 

"  I  tell  you  it  was  n't  easy,"  said  the  boy.  "  We 
promenaded  all  round  the  place,  and  I  tried  like  fun 
to  shake  him  off.  I  sent  him  errands  and  hid  behind 
trees,  and  talked  of  how  we  were  going  to  shoot  him  to 
morrow—but  it  was  all  no  blooming  good  !  I  was  at 
my  wits'  end  at  last,  and  had  almost  made  up  my  mind 
to  tie  him  to  a  tree  and  run  for  it,  when  I  got  a  bright 
idea.  I  pretended  I  had  dropped  my  canteen  under 

23 


The  Queen  versus  Billy 

a  banyan  a  mile  behind  the  town,  a  kind  of  cemetery 
banyan,  full  of  dead  men's  bones— a  rummy  place,  I 
can  tell  you.  And  when  we  got  down  near  the  boat,  I 
took  the  nigger  on  one  side  and  bade  him  go  and 
fetch  it.  l  And  don't  you  come  back  without  it,  Billy/ 
said  I.  1 1  '11  be  dismissed  the  service  if  I  can't  ac 
count  for  that  canteen  ! '  Then  he  asked  how  long  I 
was  going  to  stay,  and  I  said  a  week  j  and  he  went  off 
like  a  lamb,  while  we  squared  away  for  the  ship. 
Did  n't  you  see  the  jossers  pull !  " 

It  had  been  the  merest  pretence  that  had  taken  the 
war-ship  into  Port  McGuire,  and  now  that  her  merci 
ful  errand  had  been  so  successfully  accomplished,  and 
Billy  reluctantly  torn  at  last  from  those  who  had  to 
kill  him,  Captain  Casement  lost  no  time  in  ordering 
the  ship  to  sea.  But  as  the  winch  tugged  at  the 
anchor,  and  the  great  hull  crept  up  inch  by  inch  to 
the  tautened  chain,  a  sudden  yell  roused  the  captain 
on  the  bridge  and  struck  him  as  cruelly  as  one  of 
those  poisoned  arrows  he  feared  so  much. 

"  Billy,  on  the  starboard  bow !  " 

Sure  enough,  a  black  poll  protruded  above  the  rip 
pling  bosom  of  the  bay,  and  two  frantic  arms  were 
seen  driving  a  familiar  dark  countenance  on  a  course 
towards  the  vessel.  It  was  Billy  indeed,  his  honest 
face  marked  with  anguish  and  despair  as  he  fought 
his  way  to  regain  his  prison. 

Casement  groaned.  And  for  this  he  had  been 
holding  the  cruiser  two  long  weeks  in  those  God 
forsaken  islands,  and  had  invented  one  excuse  upon 
another  to  delay  his  return  to  Sunflower  Bay  !  Billy 

24 


The  Queen  versus  Billy 

had  been  given  a  hundred  chances. to  escape,  and  now, 
like  a  bad  penny,  here  he  was  again,  ready  to  precipi 
tate  the  catastrophe  which  could  no  longer  be  post 
poned. 

A  great  laugh  went  up  when  Billy  presented  him 
self  on  deck,  exhausted,  dripping  like  a  spaniel,  and 
sorely  hurt  in  spirit.  He  began  at  once  to  blurt  out 
the  story  of  the  canteen,  and  made  a  bee-line  for  Bur- 
der  j  but  that  intrepid  youngster  could  afford  to  listen 
to  no  explanations,  and  in  self-defence  had  to  order 
Billy  into  the  hands  of  the  marines,  who  led  him 
away  protesting. 

Casement's  patience  was  now  quite  at  an  end.  He 
headed  the  ship  for  Sunflower  Bay,  and  spared  no  coal 
to  bring  her  there  in  short  order.  Three  hours  after 
they  had  passed  out  of  the  heads  of  Port  McGuire  the 
Stingaree  was  at  anchor  off  the  blow-hole. 

Facey  was  drinking  a  whisky-and-soda,  and  pre 
paring  himself,  as  best,  he  could,  for  the  ordeal  he 
knew  to  be  before  him,  when  the  captain's  servant 
entered  the  ward-room  and  requested  his  presence  in 
the  cabin. 

"Mr.  Facey,"  said  the  captain,  "take  the  doctor 
and  the  pay  and  forty  men  well  armed  from  the 
ship,  and  when  you  've  assembled  the  village  take 
that  Billy  and  shoot  him." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  lieutenant,  turning  very  pale. 

"Faugh,"  rasped  Casement,  "it  makes  me  sick. 
Damn  the  boy,  why  could  n't  he  cut?  Well,  be  off 
with  you,  and  kill  him  as  decently  as  you  know  how." 

Billy  did  not  at  first  realize  how  seriously  he  was 


The  Queen  versus  Billy 

involved  in  the  plans  of  the  shore  party  that  was 
making  ready.  He  dropped  into  one  of  the  boats 
light-heartedly  enough,  and  took  his  place  cheerfully 
between  two  marines  with  loaded  rifles.  But  the 
mournful  hush  of  all  about  him,  the  eyes  that  turned 
and  would  not  meet  his  own,  the  tenderness  and  sor 
row  which  was  expressed  in  every  movement,  in  every 
furtive  look,  of  his  whilom  comrades,  all  stirred  and 
shook  him  with  consternation.  No  one  laughed  at  his 
little  antics.  He  tickled  the  man  next  him,  and  nudged 
him,  his  friend  Tommy,  who  could  whistle  like  a 
blackbird  and  do  amazing  tricks  with  cards;  but 
instead  of  an  answering  grin,  Tommy's  eyes  filled 
with  tears  and  he  stared  straight  in  front  of  him. 
Billy  was  whimpering  before  they  were  half  ashore, 
and  some  understanding  of  the  fate  in  store  for  him 
began  to  struggle  through  his  thick  head. 

There  was  no  need  to  assemble  the  village.  It  was 
there  to  meet  them,  old  Jibberik  and  all,  silent,  fune 
real,  and  expectant.  The  men  were  marched  up  to  the 
charred  remains  of  the  trader's  house  and  formed  up 
on  three  sides  of  a  square,  leaving  the  fourth  open  to 
the  sea.  To  this  space  Billy  was  led  by  Facey  and  old 
Quinn,  the  gunner.  The  negro  looked  about  him  like 
a  frightened  child  and  clung  to  the  old  man. 

"  Will  you  give  the  prisoner  a  minute  to  make  his 
peace  with  God  ? n  asked  old  Quinn. 

Facey  nodded. 

Quinn  plunged  down  on  his  knees,  Billy  beside 
him.  For  a  brief  space  the  gunner  pattered  prayers 
thick  and  fast,  like  a  man  with  no  time  to  lose. 

26 


The  Queen  versus  Billy 

"  Billy/'  he  said  at  last,  "  as  you  stand  on  the  brink 
of  that  river  we  all  must  cross,  as  the  few  seconds 
run  out  that  you  have  still  to  live  and  breathe  and 
make  your  final  and  everlasting  peace  with  the  God 
you  have  so  grievously  offended,  let  me  implore  you  to 
show  some  sorrow,  some  contrition,  for  the  awful  act 
that  has  brought  you  to  this !  Billy,  tell  God  you  are 
sorry  that  you  killed  Biggar." 

For  a  moment  Billy  made  no  answer.  At  last,  in 
a  husky  voice,  he  said  : 

"You  mean  Cap'n  Tom,  who  live  here  before?" 

"  Him  you  hurled  into  eternity  with  all  his  sins  hot 
on  him.  Yes,  Captain  Tom,  the  trader." 

"  No  !  "  cried  Billy,  with  a  strangled  cry.  "  Me  no 
sorry.  White  fellow  no  good ;  I  kill  him." 

"  Quinn,"  cried  Facey,  "  your  time 's  up."  The  first 
lieutenant's  face  was  livid,  and  his  hands  trembled  as 
he  bound  Billy's  eyes  with  a  silk  handkerchief. 

"  Stand  right  there,  Billy,"  said  the  officer,  turning 
the  prisoner  round  to  face  the  firing  party,  that  was 
already  drawn  up. 

"  Good-bye,  Missy  Facey  and  gennelmen  all,"  whim 
pered  the  boy. 

"Good-bye,  Billy,"  returned  the  other.  "Now, 
men,"  he  added,  as  he  ran  his  eye  along  the  faltering 
faces,  "  no  damned  squeamishness ;  if  you  want  to  help 
the  nigger,  you  '11  shoot  straight.  For  God's  sake 
don't  mangle  him. 

"  Fire ! " 


27 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  MAN   OF 
PINGALAP 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  MAN  OF 
PINGALAP 

TTE  stood  five  feet  nothing  in  his  naked  feet,  a 
JLJL  muscular,  sandy  little  fellow,  with  a  shock  of 
red  hair,  a  pair  of  watery  blue  eyes,  and  a  tawny,  sun 
burned  beard,  the  colour  of  fried  carrots.  I  could  not 
see  myself  that  he  was  beautiful,  and  might  have  lived 
a  year  with  him  and  never  found  it  out  ;  though  he 
assured  me,  with  a  giggle  of  something  like  embar 
rassment,  that  he  was  no  less  a  person  than  the  Beau 
tiful  Man  of  Pingalap.  Such  at  least  was  his  name 
amongst  the  natives,  who  had  admired  him  so  persis 
tently,  and  talked  of  him  so  much,  that  even  the  whites 
had  come  to  call  him  by  that  familiar  appellation. 

"  You  see,"  he  said,  in  that  whining  accent  which  no 
combination  of  letters  can  adequately  render, "  it  tykes 
a  man  of  a  ruddy  complexion  to  please  them  there 
Kanakas ;  and  if  he  gains  their  respeck  and  'as  a  w'y 
with  him  sort  of  jolly  and  careless-like,  there  's 
nothing  on  their  blooming  island  he  carn't  have  for 
the  arsking." 

I  gathered,  however,  as  I  talked  with  him  in  the 
shadow  of  the  old  boat-house  in  which  we  lived 
together  at  Ruk  like  a  pair  of  tramps,  that  he,  Henery 
Hinton,  had  not  presumed  to  ask  for  much  in  those 

31 


The  Beautiful  Man  of  Pingalap 

isles  from  which  he  had  so  recently  emerged.  Indeed, 
except  for  a  camphor- wood  chest,  a  nondescript  valise 
of  decayed  leather,  a  monkey,  a  parrot,  and  a  young 
native  lady  named  Bo,  my  friend  owned  no  more  in 
the  world  than  the  window-curtain  pyjamas  in  which 
he  stood. 

"  It  ain't  much,  is  it,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh,  "  to  show 
for  eight  long  years  on  the  Line  ?  Sixty  dollars  and 
w'at  you  see  before  you !  Though  the  monkey  may 
be  worth  a  trifle,  and  a  w'aler  captain  once  off ered  me 
a  mee-lodian  for  the  bird." 

"And  the  girl?"  I  asked. 

"  Who  'd  tyke  her  ?  "  he  replied,  with  a  drop  of  his 
lip.  "Did  you  ever  see  an  uglier  piece  in  all  your 
life?" 

"  What  do  you  mean  to  do  with  her  ? "  I  asked, 
knowing  that  the  firm  had  promised  him  a  passage 
to  Sydney  in  the  Ransom,  and  wondering  what  would 
become  of  the  unfortunate  Bo,  whom  he  was  little 
likely  to  drag  with  him  to  the  colonies. 

"  You  don't  think  I  'm  going  to  desert  that  girl,"  he 
said  truculently,  giving  me  a  look  of  deep  suspicion. 
"  My  word !  "  he  went  on,  "  after  having  taught  her  to 
byke  bread  and  sew,  and  regularly  broke  her  in  to  all 
kinds  of  work,  it  ain't  likely  I  am  going  to  leave  her 
to  be  snapped  up  by  the  first  feller  that  comes  along. 
The  man  as  gets  her  will  find  himself  in  clover,  and 
might  lie  in  bed  all  day  and  never  turn  his  hand  to 
nothink,  as  I  've  done  myself  time  and  time  again  at 
Pingalap,  while  she  'd  make  breakfast  and  tend  the 
store.  It  would  tyke  several  years  to  bring  a  new 

32 


The  Beautiful  Man  of  Pingalap 

girl  up  to  her  mark,  and  then  maybe  she  might  n't 
have  it  in  her,  after  all, — not  all  of  them  has, — and  so 
your  pains  and  lickings  would  be  wasted." 

"  Lickings  !  "  I  said.  "  Is  that  the  way  you  taught 
Bo?" 

"I  ?d  like  to  know  any  other  w'y,"  he  said.  "My 
word !  a  man  has  to  master  a  woman,  and  there  's  no 
getting  around  it.  With  some  you  can  do  it  with  love 
and  kindness,  but  the  most  need  just  the  whip  and 
plenty  of  it.  That  little  Bo,  w'y,  1 7ve  held  her  down 
and  lashed  her  till  my  arm  was  sore,  and  there  ain't 
a  part  of  me  she  has  n't  bit  one  time  and  another ! 
Do  you  see  that  purple  streak  on  my  ear  ?  I  thought 
I  was  booked  for  hydrophobiar  that  morning,  for  it 
swelled  up  awful,  and  I  was  that  weak  with  loss  of 
blood  that  when  I  laid  her  head  open  with  a  fancy  trade 
lamp  I  just  keeled  over  in  a  dead  faint.  But  there 
was  never  no  nasty  malice  in  Bo,  and  if  we  had  a  turn 
up  now  and  then,  she  always  played  to  the  rules,  and 
never  bit  a  feller  when  he  was  down  ;  and  she  never 
hurt  me  but  what  she  Jd  cry  her  eyes  out  afterwards 
and  sometimes  even  arsk  me  to  whip  her  for  her 
wickedness.  My  word !  I  M  lay  it  on  to  her  then,  for 
I  could  use  botli  hands  and  had  nothing  to  be  afryde 
of.  Of  course  that  was  long  ago,  when  she  was  raw 
and  only  half  trained  like.  I  don't  recollect  having 
laid  my  hand  to  her  since  the  Belle  Brandon  went 
ashore  on  Fourteen  Island  Group." 

Having  gone  so  deeply  into  the  history  of  hor  sub 
jugation,  the  Beautiful  Man  could  not  resist  showing 
me  a  proof  of  Bo's  dearly  bought  docility,  and  whistled 

33 


The  Beautiful  Man  of  Pingalap 

to  her  to  come  to  him.  This  she  did  readily  enough, 
her  ugly  face  wrinkling  into  smiles  at  sight  of  him. 
She  was  a  wizened  little  creature,  with  an  expression 
midway  between  that  of  a  monkey  and  a  Japanese 
image.  Of  all  things  in  the  world,  Bo's  chief  pleasure 
was  in  clothes,  of  which  she  possessed  an  inordinate 
quantity,  and  it  was  her  custom  to  make  at  least  three 
toilets  a  day.  She  wore  tight-fitting  jackets  plastered 
with  beadwork  like  an  Indian's,  with  embroidered 
skirts  of  bright  cotton,  and  she  incessantly  occupied 
herself  in  adding  to  her  stock.  Half  the  day  her  little 
claws  were  busy  with  needle  and  beads,  covering  fresh 
bodices  with  barbarous  patterns,  while  the  monkey 
played  about  her  and  pilfered  her  things,  and  the  parrot 
screamed  whole  sentences  in  the  Pingalap  language. 

My  own  business  in  the  Islands  was  of  a  purely 
scientific  description,  a  learned  society  having 
equipped  me  for  two  years,  with  instructions  to 
study  the  anthropological  character  of  the  natives,  dip 
into  the  botany  of  Micronesia,  and  do  what  I  could  in 
its  little-known  zoology.  I  had  meant  to  go  directly 
to  Yap,  but  in  the  uncertainties  of  South  Sea  travel 
ling  I  had  been  landed  for  a  spell  on  the  island  of 
Kuk,  from  which  place  I  had  hope  of  picking  up 
another  vessel  before  the  month  was  out.  Here  I  had 
run  across  the  Beautiful  Man,  himself  a  bird  of  pas 
sage,  waiting  for  the  barque  Hansom;  and  when  I 
learned  that  Johnson,  the  firm's  manager,  had  meant 
to  charge  me  two  dollars  and  a  half  a  day  for  the 
privilege  of  messing  at  his  table  and  seeing  him  get 
drunk  every  night,  I  was  glad  to  chum  in  with  Hinton 

34 


The  Beautiful  Man  of  Pingalap 

and  share  the  tumble-down  boat-house  in  which  ho 
camped.  Here  we  lived  together,  the  Beautiful  Man, 
Bo,  and  myself,  in  a  simplicity  that  would  have  shamed 
the  Garden  of  Eden.  We  slept  at  night  on  the  musty 
sails  of  some  forgotten  ship,  and  in  the  daytime  Bo 
prepared  our  meals  over  a  driftwood  fire.  She  baked 
the  most  excellent  bread,  and  made  her  own  yeast 
from  fermented  rice  and  sugar,  which  used  to  blow  up 
periodically,  with  an  explosion  like  that  of  a  cannon. 
She  also  made  admirable  coffee,  and  a  sort  of  sugar 
candy  in  the  frying-pan,  as  well  as  griddle-cakes  and 
waffles  with  the  gulls'  eggs  we  used  to  gather  for  our 
selves.  More  than  this  she  did  not  know,  except  how 
to  open  the  can  of  beef  or  salmon  which  was  the  in 
evitable  accompaniment  of  all  our  meals. 

We  rose  at  no  stated  hour  in  the  morning,  the  sun 
being  our  only  clock,  and,  as  we  read  it,  a  very  uncer 
tain  one.  Hinton  and  I  bathed  in  the  lagoon,  where 
he  taught  me  daily  how  to  dive  with  the  greatest  good 
humour  and  zeal,  roaring  with  laughter  at  my  failures, 
and  applauding  my  successes  to  the  skies.  He  often 
spoke  to  me  in  Pingalap,  forgetting  for  the  moment 
his  own  mother- tongue,  and  would  wear  a  hang-dog 
expression  for  an  hour  afterwards,  as  though  in  some 
way  he  had  disgraced  himself.  On  our  return  to  the 
boat-house  we  would  find  breakfast  awaiting  us,  Bo 
guarding  it  with  a  switch  from  the  depredations  of 
the  monkey  and  the  parrot.  After  breakfast,  when 
the  Beautiful  Man  and  I  would  lie  against  the  wall 
and  smoke  our  pipes,  the  little  savage  would  wash  her 
dishes,  and  putting  them  away  in  an  empty  gin-case, 

35 


The  Beautiful  Man  of  Pingalap 

would  next  turn  her  attention  to  the  pets,  cleaning 
and  brushing  them  with  scrupulous  care.  Then,  for 
another  hour,  we  would  see  no  more  of  her,  while  she 
retired  behind  a  sail  to  effect  fresh  combinations 
of  costume,  reappearing  at  last  with  her  hair  nicely 
combed,  and  her  breast  dazzling  like  a  robin's.  There 
was  to  me  something  touching  in  the  sight  of  this 
little  person  doing  the  round  of  a  treadmill  she  had 
invented  for  herself,  and  spending  the  bright  days  in 
stringing  her  unending  beads.  It  seemed  a  shame 
that  she  should  be  abandoned,  so  forlorn,  solitary,  and 
friendless,  on  the  alien  shore  of  Ruk  j  and  the  matter 
weighed  on  me  so  much  that  it  often  disturbed  my 
dreams  and  gave  rise  to  an  anxiety  that  I  was  half 
ashamed  to  feel.  Several  times  I  spoke  to  the  Beau 
tiful  Man  on  the  subject,  drawing  a  little  on  my  im 
agination  in  depicting  the  wretchedness  and  degrada 
tion  to  which  he  was  meaning  to  leave  poor  Bo,  who 
could  not  fail,  circumstanced  as  she  was,  to  come  to  a 
miserable  end.  He  always  took  my  lecture  in  good 
part  j  for,  in  fairness  to  the  Beautiful  Man,  I  must  con 
fess  he  was  the  most  good-natured  creature  alive,  and 
used  invariably  to  reply  that  he  would  not  think  of 
doing  such  a  thing  were  it  not  for  the  pressing  needs 
of  his  health,  which,  he  assured  me  with  solemnity, 
was  in  a  bad  way.  I  never  could  learn  the  exact 
nature  of  his  malady,  nor  persuade  him  into  any 
recital  of  his  symptoms  beyond  a  vague  refer 
ence  to  what  he  called  constitutional  decay.  Of 
course,  I  knew  well  enough  that  this  was  a  mere 
cloak  to  excuse  his  conduct  to  Bo,  whom  I  could  see 

36 


The  Beautiful  Man  of  Pingalap 

he  meant  to  desert  in  the  most  heartless  fashion,  if  in 
the  meantime  he  failed  to  sell  her  to  some  passing 
trader.  This  he  was  always  trying  to  do,  on  the  sly, 
for  he  had  enough  decency  left  to  screen  the  busi 
ness  from  my  view  and  carry  on  the  negotiations  with 
as  much  secrecy  as  he  could  manage.  But  the  pro 
spective  buyer  invariably  cried  off  when  he  was  shown 
the  article  for  sale,  however  much  it  was  bedizened 
with  beads  and  shined  up  with  oil,  and  the  matter 
usually  ended  in  a  big  drunk  at  the  station,  from 
which  the  Beautiful  Man  was  more  than  once  dragged 
insensible  by  his  helpmeet.  He  even  hinted  to  me  that, 
owing  to  our  long  and  intimate  relations,  I  might  my 
self  become  Bo's  proprietor  for  a  merely  nominal 
sum  j  and  when  I  told  him  straight  out  that  I  had 
come  to  the  Islands  to  study,  and  not  to  entangle  my 
self  in  any  disreputable  connection  with  a  native 
woman,  he  begged  my  pardon  very  earnestly,  and  said 
that  he  wished  to  Gord  he  had  been  as  w^ell  guided. 
But  he  always  had  a  bargaining  look  in  his  eye  when 
I  praised  Bo's  bread,  which  indeed  was  our  greatest 
luxury,  or  happened  to  pass  my  plate  for  another  of 
her  waffles. 

"  You  're  going  to  miss  them  things  up  there,"  he 
would  say.  "My  word,  ain't  you  going  to  miss 
them ! " 

This  remark,  incessantly  repeated,  made  such  an 
impression  on  me  that  I  persuaded  Bo  to  give  me 
some  lessons  in  bread-making,  and  even  extorted  from 
her,  for  a  pound  of  beads  paid  in  advance,  the  secret 
of  her  dynamitic  yeast ;  so  that  I,  too,  started  a  bomb- 

37 


The  Beautiful  Man  of  Pingalap 

shell  of  my  own,  and  was  half-way  through  a  sack  of 
flour  before  it  finally  dawned  upon  me  that  here  was 
an  art  that  I  was  incapable  of  learning.  Bread  I  could 
certainly  make,  of  a  peculiarly  stony  character,  but  the 
trouble  (as  Hinton  said)  was  the  digesting  of  it  after 
wards.  Nor  was  I  more  successful  with  my  waffles, 
which  glued  themselves  with  obstinacy  to  the  iron, 
like  oysters  on  a  rocky  bottom,  requiring  to  be  de 
tached  in  shreds  by  the  aid  of  a  knife.  My  efforts 
convulsed  the  Beautiful  Man,  and  were  the  means  of 
leading  him,  through  his  own  vainglory  and  boastful- 
ness,  to  perpetrate  a  basaltic  lump  of  his  own,  the 
sight  of  which  doubled  Bo  up  with  laughter,  and 
caused  her  to  burst  out  in  giggles  for  a  day  after 
wards.  These  attempts,  of  course,  only  enhanced  her 
own  prowess  as  a  cook,  and  Hinton  was  never  tired  of 
expatiating  on  the  lightness  of  her  loaves  and  the 
melting  quality  of  her  cakes  and  waffles,  with  a  glitter 
in  his  eye  that  I  knew  well  how  to  interpret. 

One  day  my  long-overdue  ship  appeared  in  sight, 
and,  beating  her  tedious  way  up  the  lagoon,  dropped 
her  anchor  off  the  settlement.  Captain  Mins  gave 
me  six  hours  to  get  aboard,  and  promised  me,  over 
an  introductory  glass  of  square-face  in  the  cabin,  a 
speedy  and  prosperous  run  to  the  westward.  My 
packing  was  a  matter  of  no  difficulty,  for  I  had  lived 
from  day  to  day  in  the  expectancy  of  a  sudden  call  to 
start ;  besides,  in  a  country  where  pyjamas  are  the  rule 
and  even  socks  are  regarded  as  something  of  a  super 
fluity,  life  reduces  itself  to  first  principles  and  baggage 
disappears.  In  half  an  hour  I  was  ready  to  shift  my 

38 


The  Beautiful  Man  of  Pingalap 

things  to  the  ship,  only  dallying  a  little  longer  to  say 
farewell  to  my  friends  and  take  one  final  glance  at 
the  old  boat-house.  My  heart  misgave  me  when  I 
looked,  as  I  thought  for  the  last  time,  at  poor  Bo  in 
the  midst  of  her  pets,  threading  beads  with  the  same 
tireless  industry;  while  the  Beautiful  Man,  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  shed,  was  trying  to  sell  her  to  a 
new-comer  off  the  barque,  an  evil-looking  customer 
they  called  Billy  Jones's  Cousin. 

Prompted  (I  have  since  supposed)  by  the  devil,  I 
called  the  little  man  to  where  I  stood  and  asked  him 
peremptorily  to  name  his  lowest  price  for  Bo.  He 
replied  in  a  brisk,  businesslike  manner  that  he 
could  n't  dream  of  letting  her  go  for  less  than  a  hun 
dred  dollars. 

"  A  hundred  fiddlesticks  !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  Rather 
than  see  her  abandoned  here  to  starve,  I  will  take  her 
for  my  servant  and  pay  her  ten  dollars  a  month." 

"  Oh,  she  don't  need  no  money,"  he  said.  "  Just  you 
hug  and  kiss  her  a  bit,  and  keep  her  going  with  beads 
and  such-like,  and  she  '11  work  her  hands  off  to  serve 
you.  It  's  a  mug's  game  to  give  a  Kanaka  money. 
Wy,  they  ain't  no  more  fit  for  money  than  that  mon 
key  to  navigate  a  ship." 

"  See  here,  Hinton,"  I  said,  "  I  have  told  you  before 
that  I  did  not  come  up  here  to  start  a  native  establish 
ment — least  of  all  with  a  woman  who  looks  like  Bo. 
But  I  'in  ready  to  take  her  off  your  hands  and  pay  her 
good  wages,  and  I  don't  think  you  can  be  so  contemp 
tible  as  to  stand  in  her  light." 

"  Oh,  I  shan't  stand  in  her  blooming  light,"  he  said. 

39 


The  Beautiful  Man  of  Pingalap 

"  I  '(1  sleep  easier  to  think  I  had  left  her  in  a  com 
fortable  home  with  a  perfeck  gentleman  such  as  you 
to  tyke  care  of  her.  My  word,  I  would,  and  the 
thought  of  it  will  be  a  comfort  to  me  in  the  privations 
of  my  humble  lot  5  and  I  trust  you  will  believe  me 
that  it  was  in  no  over-reaching  spirit  that  I  ventured 
to  nyme  my  figger  for  the  girl.  But  I  put  it  to  you, 
as  between  man  and  man,  won't  you  spare  me  a  few 
dollars  as  a  sort  of  token  of  your  good  will  ? " 

"  I  '11  give  you  twenty-five  dollars  for  her,"  I  said, 
"  and  not  one  penny  more." 

"  My  word,"  he  said,  "  you  're  getting  her  cruel 
cheap ! " 

11  Well,  that 's  my  price,"  I  said. 

"Perhaps  you  would  n't  care  to  give  her  a  half  a 
year's  wages  in  advance?"  he  inquired.  "A  little 
money  in  her  hand  might  hearten  her  up  for  the  part 
ing." 

"  Hearten  you  up,  you  mean,"  I  said. 

"  I  never  was  no  haggler,"  he  said.  "  She  's  yours, 
Mr.  Logan,  at  twenty-five  dollars." 

"  You  go  and  talk  to  her  a  bit,"  I  said,  "  and  try  to 
explain  things  to  her,  for  I  tell  you  I  won't  take  her 
at  all  if  she  is  unwilling." 

It  cut  me  to  the  heart  to  watch  the  poor  girl's  face 
as  the  Beautiful  Man  unfolded  the  plans  for  her  future, 
and  to  see  the  way  she  looked  at  me  with  increasing 
distress  and  horror.  When  she  began  to  cry,  I  could 
stand  the  sight  no  longer,  and  hurriedly  left  the  place, 
feeling  myself  a  thorough-paced  scoundrel  for  my 
pains.  It  was  only  shame  that  took  me  back  at  last, 

40 


The  Beautiful  Man  of  Pingalap 

after  spending  one  of  the  most  uncomfortable  hours 
of  my  life  on  the  beach  outside  the  shed.  I  found  her 
sitting  on  her  chest,  which  apparently  had  been  packed 
in  hot  haste  by  the  Beautiful  Man  himself.  With  the 
parrot  in  her  lap  and  the  monkey  shivering  beside  her, 
Bo  presented  the  most  woebegone  picture.  I  don't 
know  whether  he  had  used  the  strap  to  her,  or  whether 
he  had  trusted,  with  apparent  success,  to  the  torrents 
of  Pingalap  idiom  which  was  still  pouring  from  his 
lips ;  but  whatever  the  means  he  had  used,  the 
desired  result,  at  least,  had  been  achieved ;  for  the 
little  creature  had  been  reduced  to  a  stony  docility, 
and,  except  for  an  occasional  snuffle  and  an  indescri 
bable  choking  in  her  throat,  she  made  no  sign  of  rebel 
lion  when  the  Beautiful  Man  proposed  that  we  should 
lose  no  further  time  in  taking  her  aboard  the  ship. 
Between  us  we  lifted  the  camphor- wood  chest  and  set 
out  together  for  the  pier,  Bo  bringing  up  the  rear  with 
the  monkey  and  the  parrot  and  a  roll  of  sleeping- 
mats.  If  ever  I  felt  a  fool  and  a  brute,  it  was  on  this 
melancholy  march  to  the  lagoon,  and  I  tingled  to  the 
soles  of  my  feet  with  a  sense  of  my  humiliation.  My 
only  comfort,  besides  the  support  of  an  agitated  con 
science,  was  the  intense  plainness  of  my  prisoner, 
whose  face,  I  assured  myself,  betrayed  the  singleness 
and  honesty  of  my  intentions. 

We  put  the  chest  in  the  corner  of  the  trade-room, 
and  made  a  little  nest  for  Bo  among  the  mats  she  had 
brought  with  her ;  and  leaving  her  to  tidy  up  the  mon 
key  with  my  hair-brush,  the  Beautiful  Man  and  I 
retreated  to  the  cabin  to  conclude  the  terms  of  our 

41 


The  Beautiful  Man  of  Pingalap 

contract.  To  my  surprise,  he  handed  me  a  sheet  of 
paper,  made  out  in  all  appearance  like  any  bill  for  mer 
chandise,  and  asked  me,  with  the  most  brazen  assur 
ance,  to  kindly  settle  it  at  my  convenience.  This  was 
what  I  read : 

W.  J.  Logan,  Dr.,  to  Henery  Hinton : 

1  Young  Woman,  cut  price $25.00 

1  Superior  Congo  Monkey 7.50 

1  Choice  Imported  Parrot 4.50 

1  Chest  Fancy  Female  Wearing  Apparel  40.00 

7  Extra-size  Special  Kingsmill  Mats    .     .  5.00 

5  Ibs.  Best  Assorted  Beads  2.50 


Total $84.50 

I  burst  out  into  a  roar  of  laughter,  and  without  any 
waste  of  words  I  told  the  Beautiful  Man  that  he  might 
carry  the  lady  ashore  again  and  peddle  her  to  some 
bigger  fool  than  I,  for  I  was  clean  sick  of  him  and 
her  and  the  whole  business,  and  though  I  still  felt 
bound  to  give  the  twenty-five  dollars  I  had  originally 
promised,  he  might  go  and  whistle  for  one  cent  more. 
Then,  boiling  over  at  the  thought  of  his  greed  and 
heartlessness,  I  let  out  at  him  without  restraint,  he  try 
ing  to  stem  the  tide  with  "Oh,  I  s'y  ! "  and  " My  word,  Mr. 
Logan,  sir  !  "  until  at  last  I  had  to  pause  for  mere  lack 
of  breath  and  expletives.  He  took  this  opportunity  to 
enter  into  a  prolonged  explanation,  quavering  for  my 
pardon  at  every  second  word,  while  he  expatiated  on 
the  value  of  that  monkey  and  the  parrot's  really 
phenomenal  knowledge  of  the  Pingalap  language.  Ho 

42 


The  Beautiful  Man  of  Pingalap 

was  willing,  seeing  that  I  took  the  matter  in  such  a 
w'y,  to  pass  over  the  girl's  duds  (about  which  there 
might  be  some  question)  and  even  give  w'y  about  the 
mats,  w'ich,  as  Gord  saw  him,  had  cost  eight  dollars, 
Chile  money,  as  he  could  prove  by  Captain  Coffin  of 
the  Cape  Horn  Pigeon,  now  w'aling  in  the  Arctic  Seas ; 
but  as  to  the  parrot  and  the  monkey,  he  appealed  to 
me,  as  between  man  and  man,  to  settle  for  them  out  of 
hand,  as  they  were  truly  and  absolutely  his  own,  and 
could  not  be  expected  to  be  lumped  in  with  the  price 
of  the  girl.  I  grew  so  sick  of  the  fellow  and  his 
whining  importunity  that  I  counted  out  thirty-seven 
dollars  from  my  bag,  and  told  him  to  take  or  leave 
them  and  give  me  a  clean  receipt.  This  he  did  with 
the  greatest  good  humour,  having  the  audacity  to 
shake  my  hand  at  parting,  and  make  a  little  speech 
wishing  me  all  manner  of  prosperity  and  success. 

I  noticed,  however,  that  he  did  not  return  to  the 
trade-room,  but  sneaked  off  the  ship  without  seeing 
Bo  again,  and  kept  well  out  of  sight  on  shore  until 
the  actual  moment  of  our  sailing.  When  I  went  in 
to  pay  a  sort  of  duty  call  on  my  prisoner,  I  found  her 
huddled  up  on  the  mats  and  to  all  appearance  fast 
asleep ;  and  I  was  not  a  little  disappointed  to  find  that 
she  had  not  escaped  in  the  bustle  of  our  departure. 
Now  that  I  was  her  master  in  good  earnest  and  irrevo 
cably  bound  to  her  for  better  or  worse,  I  became  a  prey 
to  the  most  dismal  misgivings,  and  cursed  the  ill- 
judged  benevolence  that  had  led  me  into  such  a  mess. 
And  as  for  bread,  the  very  sight  of  it  was  enough  to 
plunge  me  into  gloom,  and  when  we  sat  down  that  day 

43 


The  Beautiful  Man  of  Pingalap 

to  lunch  I  asked  the  steward,  as  a  favour,  to  allow  me 
seamen's  biscuit  in  its  stead. 

Every  few  hours  I  carried  food  to  Bo  and  tried  to 
make  her  sit  up  and  eat ;  but,  except  for  a  little  water, 
she  permitted  nothing  to  pass  her  lips,  but  lay  limp 
and  apathetic  on  the  square  of  matting.  The  monkey 
and  parrot  showed  more  appetite,  and  gobbled  up 
whole  platefuls  of  soup  and  stew  and  preserved  fruit, 
which  at  first  I  left  on  the  floor  in  the  hope  that  their 
mistress  might  be  the  less  shy  when  my  back  was 
turned.  Finally  I  decided  to  remove  the  pets  alto 
gether,  for  they  were  intolerably  dirty  in  their  habits, 
and  I  could  not  but  think  that  Bo  would  be  better  off 
without  a  frowsy  parrot  roosting  in  her  hair  and  a 
monkey  biting  her  in  play,  especially  as  she  was  in 
the  throes  of  a  deathly  seasickness  and  powerless  to 
protect  herself.  Getting  the  parrot  on  deck  was  a 
comparatively  simple  matter,  though  he  squawked  a 
good  deal  and  talked  loudly  in  the  Pingalap  language. 
At  last  I  stowed  him  safely  away  in  a  chicken-coop, 
where  I  was  glad  to  see  him  well  trounced  by  some 
enormous  fowls  with  feathered  trousers  down  their 
legs.  But  the  monkey  was  not  so  lightly  ravished 
from  his  mistress.  He  was  as  strong  as  a  man  and 
extraordinarily  vicious ;  in  ten  steps  I  got  ten  bites, 
and  came  on  deck  with  my  pyjamas  in  blood  and  rags, 
he  screeching  like  a  thousand  devils  and  clawing  the 
air  with  fury.  For  the  promise  of  a  dollar  I  managed 
to  unload  him  on  old  Louey,  one  of  the  sailors  of  the 
ship,  who  volunteered  to  make  a  muzzle  for  the  brute, 
and  tie  him  up  until  it  was  ready.  But  as  I  was  still 

44 


The  Beautiful  Man  of  Pingalap 

panting  with  my  exertions,  and  cursing  the  foolish 
ness  that  had  ever  led  me  into  such  a  scrape,  I  heard 
from  behind  me  a  kind  of  heartbroken  wail,  and 
turned  to  see  Bo  emerging  from  the  trade-room  door. 
I  am  ashamed  to  say  I  trembled  at  the  sight  of  her, 
for  I  recalled  in  a  flash  what  the  Beautiful  Man  had 
said  of  her  temper  when  aroused,  and  I  thought  I 
should  die  of  mortification  were  she  to  attack  me  now. 
But,  fortunately,  such  was  not  her  intention,  though 
her  face  was  overcast  with  reproach  and  indignation 
as  she  unsteadily  stepped  past  me  to  the  coop,  where, 
with  a  cry,  she  threw  open  the  door  and  clasped  the 
parrot  in  her  arms.  Even  as  she  did  so,  the  trousered 
fowls  themselves  determined  to  make  a  break  for  lib 
erty,  and  finding  the  barrier  removed,  they  tumbled 
out  in  short  order;  and  the  ship  happening  at  that 
moment  to  dip  to  leeward,  two  of  them  sailed  unhesi 
tatingly  overboard  and  dropped  in  the  white  water 
astern.  Subsequently  I  had  the  pleasure  of  paying 
Captain  Mins  five  dollars  for  the  pair.  Bo  next  started 
for  the  monkey,  which  she  took  from  old  Louey's 
unresisting  hands,  and  almost  cried  over  it  as  she 
unbound  the  line  that  held  him.  Having  thus  rescued 
both  her  pets,  she  retreated  dizzily  to  the  shelter  of 
the  trade-room,  where  I  found  her,  half  an  hour  later, 
lying  in  agony  on  the  floor. 

We  were  three  days  running  down  to  Yap,  and 
arrived  there  late  one  afternoon  just  at  the  fall  of 
dusk.  On  going  ashore,  I  had  the  good  fortune  to 
secure  a  little  house  which  happened  to  be  lying 
vacant  through  the  death  of  its  last  tenant  j  who,  on 

45 


The  Beautiful  Man  of  Pingalap 

tlie  principle,  I  suppose,  of  letting  the  tree  lie  where 
it  falls,  had  been  buried  within  six  feet  of  my  front 
verandah.  The  following  morning  I  moved  my 
things  into  my  new  quarters,  Bo  following  me  obe 
diently  ashore  in  the  ship's  boat,  seated  on  the  top 
of  her  chest.  I  soon  got  the  trade-room  into  shape 
for  my  work,  unpacking  my  note-books,  my  little 
library,  my  collector  guns,  my  photographic  and 
other  apparatus,  as  well  as  my  big  compound  mi 
croscope  with  which  I  meant  to  perform  scientific 
wonders  in  a  part  of  the  world  so  remote  and  so 
little  known.  Busy  in  these  preparations,  I  man 
aged  to  forget  my  slave  and  enjoy  a  few  hours'  un 
alloyed  pleasure.  I  was  brought  back  to  earth,  how 
ever,  by  the  sound  of  her  sobbing  in  the  next  room, 
where  I  rushed  in  to  find  her  weeping  on  her  mats, 
with  her  face  turned  to  the  wall.  I  made  what  shift 
I  could  to  comfort  her,  talking  to  her  as  I  might  to  a 
frightened  dog,  though  she  paid  no  more  attention 
to  me  than  she  did  to  the  parrot,  who  had  raised  its 
voice  in  an  unending  scream.  At  last,  in  despair, 
and  at  my  wits'  end  to  know  what  else  to  do,  I  put 
ten  dollars  in  her  little  claw,  and  tried  to  tell  her 
that  it  was  her  first  month's  wages  in  advance. 
This  form  of  consolation,  if  altogether  ineffective 
in  the  case  of  Bo  herself,  came  in  capitally  to  cheer 
the  monkey,  whom  I  heard  slinging  the  money  out  of 
the  window,  a  dollar  at  a  time,  to  the  great  gratifica 
tion  of  a  crowd  of  natives  outside. 

All  that  day  and  all  the  following  night  Bo  lay 
supinely  on  the  mats,  and  hardly  deigned  to  touch 

46 


The  Beautiful  Man  of  Pingalap 

more  than  a  few  morsels  of  the  food  I  prepared  and 
brought  her.  The  next  morning,  finding  her  still 
of  the  same  mind,  I  unpacked  my  flour  and  other 
stores,  and  ordered  her,  in  a  rough  voice,  to  get  up 
and  make  bread.  This  she  did,  in  a  benumbed  sort 
of  fashion,  dripping  tears  into  the  dough  and  snuffling 
every  time  I  looked  her  way.  The  bread  was  all 
right  when  it  was  done,  though  it  stuck  in  my  throat 
when  I  reflected  on  the  price  I  had  paid  to  get  it,  and 
wondered  how  I  was  going  to  endure  two  long  years 
of  Bo's  society.  After  a  few  weeks  of  this  sort  of 
housekeeping  I  began  almost  to  wish  that  I  were  dead, 
and  the  sight  of  the  creature  became  so  intolerable  to 
me  that  I  hated  to  spend  an  unnecessary  hour  within 
my  own  house.  Instead  of  improving  in  health,  or 
spirits,  or  in  any  other  way,  Bo  grew  daily  thinner  and 
more  woebegone  and  started  a  hacking  cough,  which, 
she  communicated,  in  some  mysterious  manner,  to  the 
monkey,  so  that  when  one  was  still  the  other  was  in 
paroxysms,  giving  me,  between  them,  scarce  a  moment 
of  peace  or  sleep.  Of  course  I  doctored  them  both 
from  my  medicine-chest,  and  got  the  thanks  I  might 
reasonably  have  expected :  bites  and  lacerations  from 
the  monkey,  and  from  Bo  that  expression  of  hers  that 
seemed  to  say,  "  Good  God  !  what  are  you  going  to  do 
to  me  now  ? "  I  found  it  too  great  a  strain  to  persevere 
with  the  bread-making,  and  soon  gave  up  all  thought 
of  turning  her  to  any  kind  of  practical  account;  for 
what  with  her  tears,  her  cough,  and  her  passive  resis 
tance  to  doing  anything  at  all,  save  to  titivate  the 
monkey  with  my  comb  and  brush  and  wash  him  with 

47 


The  Beautiful  Man  of  Pingalap 

my  sponge,  I  would  rather  have  lived  on  squid  and 
cocoanuts  than  anything  of  her  making.  Besides, 
she  really  seemed  to  be  threatened  with  galloping 
consumption ;  for  in  addition  to  her  cough,  which 
grew  constantly  worse,  she  had  other  symptoms  which 
alarmed  me.  Among  my  stores  were  a  dozen  tins  of 
some  mushy  invalid  food, —  "Imperial  something,"  it 
was  called,— with  which  I  manufactured  daily  messes 
for  my  patient,  of  the  consistency  (and  flavour)  of 
white  paint.  If  she  at  least  failed  to  thrive  on  this,  it 
was  otherwise  with  the  monkey  and  the  parrot,  who 
fought  over  her  prostrate  body  for  the  stuff,  and  the 
former  would  snatch  the  cup  from  his  mistress's  very 
mouth. 

I  think  I  could  have  borne  up  better  under  my 
misfortunes  had  I  not  suffered  so  much  from  loneli 
ness  in  that  far-off  place ;  for,  with  the  exception  of 
half  a  dozen  sottish  traders,  and  a  missionary  and 
his  wife  named  Small,  there  was  not  another  white 
on  the  island  to  keep  me  company.  The  Smalls  lived 
in  snug  missionary  comfort  at  the  other  end  of  the 
bay,  with  half  a  dozen  converts  to  do  their  work  and 
attend  to  a  nestful  of  young  Smalls ;  and  though  they 
had  parted,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  with  all  the  princi 
ples  of  Christianity,  they  still  retained  enough  reli 
gious  prejudice  to  receive  me  (when  I  once  ventured 
to  make  a  formal  call  on  them)  with  the  most  undis 
guised  rudeness  and  hostility.  Small  gave  me  to  un 
derstand  that  I  was  a  sort  of  moral  monster  who, 
with  gold  and  for  my  own  wicked  purpose,  had 
parted  a  wife  from  her  husband.  It  appeared,  ac- 

48 


The  Beautiful  Man  of  Pingalap 

cording  to  Mr.  Small,  that  I  had  blasted  two  fair  young 
lives,  as  well  as  condemned  my  own  soul  to  everlast 
ing  perdition ;  and  he  promised  the  active  interference 
of  the  next  man-of-war.  On  my  attempting  to  make 
my  position  in  the  matter  a  little  clearer,  the  reverend 
gentleman  began  to  take  such  an  offensive  tone 
that  it  was  all  I  could  do  to  leave  his  house  without 
giving  freer  vent  to  my  indignation  than  words  alone 
sufficed.  Indeed,  I  was  angry  enough  to  have  kicked 
him  down  his  own  missionary  steps,  and  made  him  in 
good  earnest  the  ill-used  martyr  he  pretended  to  be  in 
his  reports  home. 

With  the  traders  I  fared  even  worse,  for  the  dis 
creditable  reports  about  me  had  become  so  well 
established  that  I  was  exposed  by  them  to  constant 
jokes  and  innuendoes,  as  well  as  to  a  friendliness 
that  was  more  distasteful  than  the  missionary's  pro 
nounced  ill  will.  It  was  spread  about  the  beach,  and 
carried  thence,  I  suppose,  to  every  corner  of  the  group, 
that  Bo  was  a  half- white  of  exquisite  beauty,  for  whose 
possession  I  had  paid  her  husband  a  sum  to  stagger 
the  imagination,  and  that,  unable  to  repel  my  loath 
some  embraces,  she  was  now  taking  refuge  in  a 
premature  death. 

I  doubt  whether  there  was  in  the  wide  Pacific  a  man 
so  depressed,  so  absolutely  crushed  and  miserable,  as 
I  was  during  the  course  of  those  terrible  days  on  Yap. 
Had  it  not  been  for  the  shame  of  the  thing,  I  believe 
I  would  have  sailed  away  on  the  first  ship  that 
offered,  whatever  the  port  to  which  she  was  bound, 
and  would  have  quitted  my  unhappy  prisoner  at  any 

49 


The  Beautiful  Man  of  Pingalap 

hazard.  But,  to  do  me  justice,  I  was  incapable  of 
treating  any  woman  so  badly,  particularly  such  a  sick 
and  helpless  creature  as  Bo  was  fast  becoming.  I 
had  now  begun,  besides,  to  suspect  another  name  for 
her  complaint,  and  to  see  before  me  a  situation  more 
ambiguous  and  mortifying  than  any  of  which  I  had 
dreamed.  My  household  was  threatened  with  the 
advent  of  another  member! 

The  idea  of  Bo  and  I  both  leaving  together  never 
struck  my  mind  until  the  opportune  arrival  of  the 
Fleur  de  Lys,  bound  for  Ruk,  suddenly  turned  my 
thoughts  in  a  new  direction.  With  feverish  haste 
I  calculated  the  course  of  the  Ransom,  the  barque 
in  which  the  Beautiful  Man  had  been  promised  his 
passage  to  Sydney,  and  it  seemed  that  with  any  kind 
of  luck  I  might  manage  to  intercept  her  in  the  Flenr 
de  Lys  by  a  good  three  days.  Of  course  I  knew  a 
sailing-ship  was  ill  to  count  upon,  and  that  a  favour 
able  slant  might  bring  her  in  a  week  before  me  or 
delay  her  for  an  indefinite  time  beyond  the  date  of 
my  arrival  j  but  the  chance  seemed  too  good  a  one  to 
be  thrown  away,  and  I  lost  no  time  in  making  my 
arrangements  with  Captain  Brice  of  the  schooner. 
When  I  explained  the  matter  to  Bo  with  signs  that 
she  could  not  misunderstand,  she  became  instantly 
galvanised  into  a  new  creature,  and  ate  a  two- 
pound  tin  of  beef  on  the  strength  of  the  good  news. 

I  never  grudged  a  penny  of  what  it  cost  me  to  leave 
Yap,  though  I  was  stuck  for  three  months'  rent  by 
the  cormorant  who  said  he  owned  my  house,  besides 
having  to  pay  an  extortionate  sum  to  Captain  Brice 

5° 


The  Beautiful  Man  of  Pingalap 

for  our  joint  passage.  But  what  was  mere  money 
in  comparison  to  the  liberty  I  saw  before  me— that 
life  of  blissful  independence  in  which  there  should  be 
no  Bo,  no  dark  shadow  across  my  lonely  hearth,  no 
sleepless  nights  and  apprehensive  days,  no  monkey, 
no  parrot !  I  trod  the  deck  of  the  Fleur  de  Lys  with 
a  light  step,  and  I  think  Bo  and  I  began  to  under 
stand  each  other  for  the  first  time.  For  once  she 
even  smiled  at  me,  and  insisted  on  my  accepting  a 
beadwork  necktie  she  had  embroidered  for  the  mon 
key.  If  there  was  a  worm  in  the  bud,  a  perpetual 
and  benumbing  sense  of  uneasiness  that  never  left 
me,  it  was  the  thought  that  the  Beautiful  Man  might 
have  slipped  away  before  us ;  and  I  never  looked 
over  our  foaming  bows  but  I  wondered  whether  the 
Ransom  was  not  as  briskly  ploughing  her  way  to 
Sydney,  leaving  me  to  face  an  unspeakable  disaster 
on  the  shores  of  Ruk.  But  it  was  impossible  to  be 
long  despondent  in  that  pleasant  air,  with  our  little 
vessel  heeling  over  to  the  trades  and  the  water  gur 
gling  musically  beneath  our  keel.  Indeed,  I  felt  my 
heart  grow  lighter  with  every  stroke  of  the  bell,  with 
every  twist  of  the  patent  log;  and  each  day,  when 
our  position  was  pricked  out  on  the  chart,  I  felt  a 
sense  of  fresh  elation  as  the  crosses  grew  towards 
Ruk.  Nor  was  Bo  a  whit  behind  me  in  her  cheerful 
ness,  for  she,  too,  livened  up  in  the  most  wonderful 
manner,  playing  checkers  with  the  captain,  exercising 
her  pets  on  the  open  deck,  and  romping  for  an  hour 
at  a  stretch  with  the  kanaka  cabin-boy. 

By  the  time  we  had  raised  the  white  beaches  of  our 

51 


The  Beautiful  Man  of  Pingalap 

port,  the  whole  ship's  company,  from  the  captain  to 
the  cook,  were  in  the  secret  of  our  race,  and  as  eager 
as  I  was  myself  to  forestall  the  Ransom  in  the  lagoon. 
When  we  entered  the  passage  and  opened  out  the 
head-station  beyond,  there  was  a  regular  cheer  at  the 
sight  of  our  quest  at  anchor  j  for  it  was  by  so  narrow 
a  margin  that  I  had  cut  off  the  Beautiful  Man's  re 
treat,  and  intercepted  the  vessel  that  was  to  carry  him 
away.  Coming  up  under  the  Ransom,  we  made  a 
mooring  off  her  quarter ;  and  among  the  faces  that 
lined  up  to  stare  at  us  from  her  decks,  I  had  the  satis 
faction  of  recognising  the  frizzled  red  beard  of  our 
departing  friend.  On  perceiving  us,  he  waved  his 
hand  in  the  jauntiest  manner,  and  replied  to  Bo's 
screams  of  affection  by  some  words  in  Pingalap  which 
effectually  shut  up  that  little  person.  She  was  still 
crying  when  we  bundled  her  into  the  boat,  bag  and 
baggage,  monkey,  parrot,  and  camphor- wood  chest; 
and  pulling  over  to  the  barque,  we  deposited  her,  with 
all  her  possessions,  on  the  disordered  quarter-deck  of 
the  Ransom.  The  Beautiful  Man  sauntered  up  to  us 
with  an  affectation  of  airy  indifference,  and  languidly 
taking  the  pipe  from  his  mouth,  he  had  the  effrontery 
to  ask  me  if  I,  too,  were  bound  for  Sydney. 

Resisting  my  first  impulse  to  kick  him,  I  controlled 
myself  sufficiently  to  say  that  I  was  not  going  to  Syd 
ney—telling  him  at  the  same  time  that  I  washed  my 
hands  of  Bo,  whom  I  had  now  the  satisfaction  of  re 
turning  to  him. 

"  My  word !  "  he  said,  "  you  don't  think  1 7m  going  to 
tyke  her?" 

52 


The  Beautiful  Man  of  Pingalap 

"  That 's  your  affair,"  said  I,  moving  off. 

"  Oh,  I  s'y !  "  he  cried  in  consternation,  attempting, 
as  he  spoke,  to  lay  a  detaining  hand  on  my  sleeve. 
But  I  jerked  it  off,  and  stopping  suddenly  in  my  walk 
towards  the  gangway,  I  gave  him  such  a  look  that  he 
turned  pale  and  shrank  back  from  me. 

"  Oh,  I  s'y !  "  he  faltered,  and  allowed  me  to  descend 
in  quiet  to  my  boat. 

Most  of  that  afternoon  I  spent  in  the  schooner's 
cabin,  covertly  watching  Bo  from  a  port-hole.  For 
hours  she  remained  where  I  had  left  her  on  the  quar 
ter-deck,  seated  imperturbably  on  her  chest,  the  mon 
key  and  parrot  on  either  hand.  As  for  the  Beautiful 
Man,  he,  like  myself,  had  also  disappeared  from  view, 
and  was  doubtless  watching  the  situation  from  some 
secure  hiding-hole  of  his  own.  Bo  was  again  and 
again  accosted  by  the  officers  of  the  ship,  who  alter 
nately  cajoled  and  threatened  her  in  their  fruitless  at 
tempts  to  get  her  off  the  vessel.  But  nothing  was 
achieved  until  five  o'clock,  when  the  captain  came  off 
from  the  station,  and,  in  an  off-with-his-head  style,  com 
manded  the  presence  of  the  Beautiful  Man.  I  was  too 
far  off,  of  course,  to  hear  one  word  that  passed  between 
them,  but  the  pantomime  needed  no  explanation,  as 
Hinton  cringed  and  the  captain  fumed,  while  Bo 
looked  on  like  a  graven  image  in  a  joss-house.  In 
the  end  Bo  was  removed  bodily  from  the  ship  to 
the  shore,  and  landed,  with  her  things,  on  the  beach, 
where,  until  night  fell  and  closed  round  her,  I 
could  see  her  still  roosting  on  her  box.  Seriously 
alarmed,  I  began  to  experience  the  most  disquieting 

53 


The  Beautiful  Man  of  Pingalap 

fears  for  the  result,  especially  as  I  could  perceive  the 
Beautiful  Man  lounging  serenely  about  the  barque's 
deck,  smoking  a  cigar  and  spitting  light-heartedly  over 
her  side.  It  made  me  more  than  uneasy  to  see  him 
afloat  and  her  ashore ;  and  the  barque's  loosened  sail 
lying  ready  to  open  to  the  breeze  warned  me  there  was 
little  time  to  lose.  It  was  some  relief  to  my  mind  to 
learn  from  Captain  Brice  that  the  barque  was  not  due 
to  sail  before  the  morrow  noon  •  but  even  this  short 
respite  served  to  quicken  my  apprehension  when  I 
reflected  on  my  utter  powerlessness  to  interfere.  I 
passed  a  restless  night,  revolving  a  thousand  plans  to 
hinder  the  Beautiful  Man's  departure,  and  rose  at 
dawn  in  a  state  of  desperation. 

The  first  thing  I  saw,  on  going  to  the  galley  for  my 
morning  cup  of  coffee,  was  poor  Bo  planted  on  the 
beach,  where,  as  far  as  I  could  see,  she  must  have  passed 
the  night,  sitting  with  unshaken  determination  on  her 
camphor- wood  chest.  Taking  the  schooner's  dinghy, 
I  pulled  myself  over  to  the  Ransom,  bent  on  a  fresh 
scheme  to  retrieve  the  situation.  The  first  person  I 
ran  across  on  board  was  the  Beautiful  Man  himself, 
who  hailed  me  with  the  greatest  good  humour,  and 
asked  what  the  devil  had  brought  me  there  so 
early. 

"  To  put  you  off  this  ship,"  I  replied.  "  When  the 
captain  has  heard  my  story,  I  don't  think  you  will 
ever  see  Sydney,  Mr.  Beautiful  Man." 

"  Wy,  w'at  's  this  you  have  against  me  ? "  he  asked, 
with  a  very  creditable  show  of  astonishment. 

I  pointed  to  the  melancholy  spectre  on  the  beach. 

54 


The  Beautiful  Man  of  Pingalap 

"Wat  of  it?"  he  said.  "She  ain't  mine:  she  's 
yours." 

"You  wait  till  I  see  the  captain !  "  I  retorted. 

"  A  fat  lot  he  '11  care,"  said  Hinton.  "  The  fack  is, 
as  between  man  and  man,  I  don't  mind  telling  you 
he  'd  shake  me  if  he  dared,  the  old  hunks ;  but  I  've 
got  an  order  for  my  passage  from  the  owner,  and  it 
will  be  worth  his  job  for  him  to  disregard  it.  My 
word  !  I  thought  he  was  going  to  bounce  me  last  night, 
for  he  was  tearing  up  and  down  here  like  a  royal 
Bengal  tiger  in  a  cage  of  blue  fire,  giving  me  w'at  he 
called  a  piece  of  his  mind.  A  dirty  low  mind  it  was, 
too,  and  I  don't  mind  who  hears  me  say  it.  But  I 
stood  on  my  order.  I  said,  l  Here  it  is,'  I  said, { and 
I  beg  to  inform  you  that  I  'm  going  to  syle  in  this  ship 
to  Sydney.  Put  me  ashore  if  you  dare/  I  said." 

At  this  moment  the  captain  came  on  deck.  He 
gave  a  stiff  nod  in  reply  to  my  salutation,  and  marched 
past  the  Beautiful  Man  without  so  much  as  a  look. 

"That  '&  a  nice  sight,  sir,"  I  said,  pointing  in  the 
direction  of  Bo. 

He  gave  a  snort  and  muttered  something  below  his 
breath. 

"  Is  his  order  good  ? "  I  asked. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  he  replied ;  "  his  order  is  good." 

"  See  here,  Hinton,"  I  said,  "  would  n't  you  care  to 
sell  it?" 

"  W'y,  w'at  are  you  driving  at  ? "  he  returned. 

"  If  you  '11  take  her  back,"  I  said,  indicating  Bo  in 
the  distance,  "  I  '11  buy  your  passage  for  what  it  's 
worth." 

55 


The  Beautiful  Man  of  Pingalap 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  'd  care  to  sell/'  lie  returned  j 
"  leastw'ys,  at  any  figger  you  'd  care  to  nyme." 

"  What  would  you  care  to  nyme  ? "  I  repeated  after 
him,  in  involuntary  mimicry  of  his  whine. 

"  One  hundred  dollars,"  he  replied. 

"  And  for  one  hundred  dollars  you  will  surrender 
your  passage  and  go  back  to  the  girl,"  I  demanded, 
11  and  swear  never  to  leave  her  again,  unless  it  is  on 
her  own  island  and  among  her  own  relations  ? " 

"  Oh,  come  off !"  he  exclaimed.  "  Ain't  you  bloom 
ing  well  deserting  her  yourself  ? " 

"  If  you  are  not  careful  I  will  punch  your  head,"  I 
said. 

"Don't  mind  me,  sir,"  said  the  captain,  signifi 
cantly,  turning  an  enormous  back  upon  us. 

"Is  it  business  you  're  talking, or  fight?"  inquired 
the  Beautiful  Man.  "  You  sort  of  mix  a  feller  up." 

"  I  tell  you  I  '11  pay  you  one  hundred  dollars  on 
those  terms,"  I  said. 

"  Hand  them  along,  then,"  saidHinton.    "I  tyke  you." 

Unbuckling  the  money-belt  I  wore  round  my  waist, 
I  called  upon  the  captain  to  witness  the  proceedings, 
and  counted  out  one  hundred  dollars  in  gold.  With 
out  a  word  the  Beautiful  Man  resigned  his  order  into 
my  hands  and  tied  up  the  money  in  the  corner  of  a 
dirty  handkerchief,  looking  at  me  the  while  with 
something  almost  like  compunction. 

"Would  you  mind  accepting  this  red  pearl?"  he 
said,  producing  a  trumpery  pill  of  a  thing  that  was 
worth  perhaps  a  dollar.  "You  might  value  it  for  old 
syke's  syke." 

56 


The  Beautiful  Man  of  Pingalap 

I  was  rather  disarmed  by  this  gift  and  took  it  with 
a  smile,  putting  in  another  good  word  for  Bo. 

"Might  I  ask  what  you  are  going  to  do  now?" 
asked  the  captain,  addressing  Hinton  in  a  tone  that 
bordered  on  ferocity. 

"  Wy,  I  was  just  thinking  of  st'ying  to  breakfast, 
sir/7  quavered  the  little  man,  "  and  then  toddle  ashore 
to  my  happy  home." 

"  Get  off  my  ship  !  "  roared  the  captain.  "  Get  off  my 
ship,  you  red-headed  beach-comber  and  pirate.  Get  oif 
before  you  are  kicked  off !  " 

Hinton  bolted  like  a  rabbit  for  the  rail,  and  almost 
before  we  could  realise  what  he  was  about,  we  saw 
him  leap  feet  foremost  into  the  lagoon.  Blowing  and 
cursing,  he  rose  to  the  surface,  and  informed  the  cap 
tain  he  should  hold  him  personally  responsible  for 
his  bag,  which,  it  seems,  had  been  left  in  one  of  the 
cabins  below. 

"  Your  bag !  "  cried  the  captain,  going  to  the  open 
skylight  and  thundering  out :  "  Steward,  bring  up 
that  beach-comber's  bag !  " 

The  boy  came  running  up  with  the  valise  I  remem 
bered  so  well;  it  looked  even  more  dilapidated  than 
before,  for  the  thing  was  patched  with  canvas  in  a 
dozen  places,  and  was  wound  round  and  round  with  a 
kind  of  cocoanut  string.  The  captain  lifted  it  in  his 
brawny  arms,  and  aiming  it  at  the  Beautiful  Man's 
head,  let  it  fly  straight  at  him.  It  just  missed  Hinton 
by  an  inch,  and  splashed  water  all  over  him  as  he 
grasped  it  to  his  breast.  Turning  on  his  back  and 
dragging  the  spongy  thing  along  with  him,  as  one 

57 


The  Beautiful  Man  of  Pingalap 

might  the  body  of  a  drowning  person,  he  set  off  most 
unconcernedly  for  the  shore.  In  this  fashion  we  saw 
him  strike  the  beach,  and  rise  up  at  last  with  the  bag 
in  his  hand,  not  a  dozen  paces  from  where  Bo  was 
still  encamped.  We  were,  unfortunately,  at  too  great 
a  distance  to  watch  their  faces  or  to  observe  narrowly 
the  greeting  that  must  have  passed  between  them; 
but  the  meeting  was  to  all  appearance  not  unfriendly, 
and  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  them  move  off 
together  in  the  direction  of  the  boat-house,  lugging 
the  chest  and  bag  between  them,  as  though  they  were 
about  to  resume  housekeeping  in  the  old  place. 

I  spent  the  rest  of  the  morning  writing  letters  to  go 
by  the  Ransom,  which  sailed  away  at  noon,  homeward 
bound.  I  had  no  heart  to  go  ashore  again  that  day, 
for  the  Bo  affair  stuck  in  my  throat,  and  the  loss  of 
so  much  money,  not  to  speak  of  time,  made  me  feel 
seriously  crippled  in  the  plans  I  had  laid  out  for  my 
future  work.  I  was  undecided,  besides,  whether  to 
remain  at  Ruk  and  wait  for  another  ship  to  the  west 
ward,  or  to  stand  by  the  schooner  in  her  cruise  through 
the  Kingsmills,  remaining  over,  perhaps,  at  Butaritari, 
or  at  one  of  the  islands  towards  the  south.  On  talk 
ing  over  the  matter  with  the  captain,  I  found  his  feel 
ings  so  far  changed  towards  me  that  he  was  eager 
now  to  give  me  a  passage  at  any  price ;  for,  as  he  told 
me,  he  had  taken  a  genuine  liking  to  my  company, 
and  was  desirous  of  having  another  face  at  his  lonely 
table.  Accordingly  we  patched  up  the  matter  to  our 
mutual  satisfaction,  and  arranged  to  sail  the  next  day 
when  the  tide  turned  at  ten. 

58 


The  Beautiful  Man  of  Pingalap 

Shortly  before  this  hour,  I  remembered  some  im 
provised  tide-gauges  I  had  set  on  the  weather  side  of 
the  island,  and  I  snatched  an  opportunity  to  see  them 
on  the  very  eve,  as  it  was,  of  the  schooner's  sailing. 
It  seemed,  however,  that  I  had  been  too  late  in 
going,  for  not  one  of  them  could  I  find,  though  I 
searched  up  and  down  the  beach  for  as  long  a  time  as 
I  dared  to  stay. 

I  was  returning  leisurely  back  across  the  island, 
when  a  turn  of  the  path  brought  me  face  to  face  with 
the  Beautiful  Man  himself,  carrying  some  kind  of  fish- 
trap  in  his  hand.  I  would  have  walked  silently  past 
him,  for  the  very  sight  of  the  creature  now  turned 
my  stomach,  had  he  not,  in  what  proved  an  evil  mo 
ment  for  himself,  detained  me  as  I  was  passing. 

"  My  word !  "  he  said,  "  that  girl  is  regularly  gone 
on  you,  she  is !  W'y,  last  night,  when  I  told  her  of 
the  hundred  dollars,  she  was  that  put  out  that  I  heard 
the  teeth  snap  in  her  head  like  that,  and  I  thought  she 
was  going  to  do  for  me  sure,  while  I  lit  out  in  the 
dark  and  looked  for  a  club.  She  's  put  by  a  little 
present  for  you  before  you  go,— one  of  them  pearl-shell 
bonito-hooks,  and  a  string  of  the  last  monkey's  teeth, 
—and  she  asked  me  to  say  she  hoped  you  would  n't 
forget  her." 

"I  won't  forget  her,"  I  answered  pretty  quietly. 
"  Nor  you  either,  you  little  cur." 

"  Cur !  "  he  repeated,  edging  away  from  me. 

I  don't  know  what  possessed  me,  but  the  memory 
of  my  wrongs,  of  my  wasted  money,  of  my  lost  time, 
of  the  man's  egregious  cynicism  and  selfishness,  sud- 

59 


The  Beautiful  Man  of  Pingalap 

denly  set  my  long-tried  temper  flaming ;  and  almost  be 
fore  I  knew  what  I  was  doing,  I  had  the  creature  by 
the  throat  and  was  pounding  him  with  all  my  force 
against  a  tree.  I  was  twice  his  size  and  twice  his 
strength,  but  I  fought  him  regardless  of  all  the  de 
cencies  of  personal  combat,  in  a  lawless  and  primeval 
manner,  even  as  one  of  our  hairy  ancestors  might  have 
revenged  himself  (after  extraordinary  provocation) 
upon  another.  I  shook  him,  I  kicked  him,  I  pulled 
out  whole  handf uls  of  frowsy  red  hair  and  whisker ; 
and  when  at  last  he  lay  limp  before  me  in  the  dirt, 
whimpering  aloud  for  mercy,  I  beat  him  for  ten  min 
utes  with  a  cocoanut  branch  that  happened,  by  the  best 
of  fortunes,  to  be  at  hand.  When  I  at  length  desisted, 
it  was  from  no  sense  of  pity  for  him,  but  rather  in 
concern  for  myself  and  my  interrupted  voyage.  I  did 
turn  him  over  once  or  twice  to  assure  myself  that 
none  of  his  bones  were  broken,  and  that  my  punish 
ment  had  not  gone  too  far ;  and  as  I  did  so,  he  exe 
cuted  some  hollow  groans,  and  went  through  with  an 
admirable  stage-play  of  impending  dissolution.  I 
could  plainly  see  that  he  was  shamming,  and  had  an 
eye  to  damages  and  financial  consolation,  as  well  as 
the  obvious  intention  of  wringing  my  bosom  with 
remorse.  I  left  him  sitting  up  in  the  path,  rubbing 
his  fiery  curls  and  surveying  the  cocoanut  branch  with 
which  he  had  made  such  a  painful  acquaintance,  a 
figure  so  mournful,  changed,  and  dejected  that  Pinga 
lap  would  scarce  have  known  him  for  her  Beautiful 
Man. 

As  I  was  hurrying  down  to  the  beach,  I  saw  the 

60 


The  Beautiful  Man  of  Pingalap 

schooner  getting  under  way,  and  heard  the  boat's  crew 
imperiously  calling  out  to  me  to  hasten.  I  broke  into 
a  run,  and  was  almost  at  the  water's  edge  when  I 
turned  to  find  Bo  panting  at  my  side.  I  stopped  to 
see  what  she  wanted,  and  when  she  forced  a  little 
parcel  into  my  pocket  I  suddenly  remembered  the 
present  of  which  Hinton  had  spoken. 

"  Good-bye,  Bo,"  I  cried,  wringing  her  little  fist  in 
mine.  "  Many  thanks  for  the  fish-hook,  which  I  shall 
always  keep  in  memory  of  our  travels." 

All  the  way  out  to  the  schooner  I  seemed  to  feel  the 
package  growing  heavier  and  heavier  in  my  pyjama 
pocket,  and  the  suspicion  more  than  once  crossed 
my  mind  that  it  was  no  fish-hook  at  all.  Feeling 
loath  to  determine  the  matter  before  the  men,  who 
must  needs  have  seen  and  wondered  at  the  transac 
tion  from  the  boat,  I  kept  down  my  curiosity  until  I 
could  satisfy  it  more  privately  on  board.  Then,  as 
the  captain  and  I  were  watching  the  extraordinary 
antics  of  the  Beautiful  Man  (who  had  rushed  down  to 
the  beach  and  thrown  himself  into  a  native  canoe,  in 
the  impossible  hope  of  overtaking  us,  alternately  pad 
dling  and  shaking  his  fist  demoniacally  in  the  air),  I 
drew  out  the  package  and  cut  it  open  with  my  knife. 
In  a  neat  little  beadwork  bag  (which  still  conserved  a 
lurking  scent  of  monkey),  and  carefully  done  up  in 
fibre,  like  a  jewel  in  cotton  wool,  I  found  a  shining 
treasure  of  gold  and  silver  coin. 

One  hundred  and  thirty-seven  dollars ! 

It  was  Bo's  restitution. 


61 


THE   DUST   OF   DEFEAT 


THE  DUST   OF  DEFEAT 

THEY  took  their  accustomed  path  beside  the  strait, 
walking  slowly  side  by  side,  each  conscious  that 
they  would  never  again  be  together.  The  melancholy 
pines,  rising  from  the  water's  edge  to  the  very  summit 
of  the  mountains,  gave  that  look  of  desolation  which 
is  the  salient  note  of  New  Caledonian  landscape. 
Across  the  narrow  strait  as  calm  and  clear  as  some 
sweet  English  river,  the  rocky  shore  rose  steep  and 
precipitous,  cloaked  still  in  pines.  A  faint,  thrilling 
roar  broke  at  times  upon  the  ear,  and  told  of  Fitzroy's 
mine  far  up  on  the  hill,  its  long  chutes  emptying 
chrome  on  the  beach  below.  Except  for  this,  there 
was  not  a  sound  that  bespoke  man's  presence  or  any 
sign  that  betrayed  his  habitation  or  handiwork. 

"  This  is  our  last  day,"  he  said.  "  Do  you  not  once 
wish  to  see  the  little  cabin  where  I  have  eaten  my 
heart  out  these  dozen  years  ?  Do  you  never  mean  to 
ask  me  what  brought  me  here  ? " 

"  I  would  like  to  know,"  she  answered  j  "  but  I  was 
afraid.  I  did  n't  wish  to  be— to  be— 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said.  "  Thank  you  for  that  un 
spoken  word.  You  did  not  wish  to  be  disillusioned— 
to  be  told  that  the  man  you  have  treated  with  such 
condescension  was  a  mere  vulgar  criminal,  a  garroter 
perhaps,  such  a  one  as  you  have  read  of  in  Gaboriau's 

65 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

romances.  Ah,  mademoiselle,  when  you  have  heard  my 
unhappy  story, — that  story  which  no  one  has  ever  lis 
tened  to  save  the  counsel  that  defended  me,— you  will 
perhaps  think  better  of  poor  Paul  de  Charruel." 

"  You  are  innocent?"  she  cried,  looking  up  at  him 
with  eyes  full  of  tenderness  and  curiosity.  "You 
have  shielded  some  one?" 

M.  de  Charruel  shook  his  head.  "  I  am  not  inno 
cent,"  he  said.  "  I  am  no  martyr,  mademoiselle— not, 
at  least,  in  the  sense  you  are  good  enough  to  imply. 
I  was  fortunate  to  get  transportation  for  life,  doubly 
fortunate  to  obtain  this  modified  liberty  after  only 
three  years.  You  may,  however,  congratulate  your 
self  that  your  friend  is  a  model  prisoner  5  his  little 
farm  has  been  well  reported  on  by  the  Chef  de  PAd- 
ministration  Penitentiaire ;  it  compares  favourably 
with  Leclair's,  the  vitriol-thrower  of  Rue  d'Enfer,  and 
his  early  potatoes  are  said  to  rival  those  of  Palitzi 
the  famous  poisoner." 

His  companion  shuddered. 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  continued.  "  God  knows,  I  have 
no  desire  to  be  merry ;  my  heart  is  heavy  enough,  in 
all  conscience." 

"  You  will  tell  me  everything,"  she  said  softly. 

He  walked  along  in  silence  for  several  minutes, 
moody  and  preoccupied,  staring  on  the  ground  before 
him. 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  to  begin  with  my  father  and 
mother,  in  the  old-fashioned  way,"  he  said  at  last, 
with  a  sudden  smile.  "  There  are  conventionalities  even 
for  convicts !  My  father  (if  we  are  to  go  so  far  back) 

66 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

was  the  Comte  de  Charruel,  one  of  the  old  noblesse  j 
my  mother  an  American  lady  from  whom  I  got  the 
little  English  I  possess,  as  well  as  a  disposition  most 
rash,  nervous,  and  impulsive.  There  were  two  of  us 
children— my  sister  Berthe  and  myself,  she  the 
younger  by  six  years.  My  father  died  when  I  reached 
twenty  years,  just  as  I  entered  the  Eighty-sixth 
Hussars  as  a  sub-lieutenant.  Had  he  survived  I 
might  perhaps  have  been  saved  many  miseries  and 
unhappin esses;  on  the  other  hand,  he,  the  soul  of 
honour,  might  have  .been  standing  here  in  my  place, 
condemned  as  I  have  been  to  a  lifelong  exile. 

"  I  was  a  good  officer.  Titled,  rich,  and  well  born, 
there  was  accorded  me  the  friendship  of  the  aristo 
cratic  side  of  the  regiment ;  a  good  comrade,  and  free 
from  stupid  pride,  I  stood  well  with  those  who  had 
risen  from  the  ranks  and  the  humbler  spheres  of 
society.  Many  a  time  I  was  the  only  officer  at  home 
in  either  camp,  and  popular  in  both.  When  I  look 
back  upon  my  army  life,  so  gay,  so  animated,  so  filled 
with  small  successes  and  commendations  from  my 
superiors,  I  wish  that  I  had  been  fated  to  die  in 
what  was  the  very  zenith  of  my  happiness  and 
prosperity. 

"  My  mother,  except  for  a  short  time  each  year  at 
our  hotel  in  Paris,  lived  in  our  old  chateau  in  Nemours, 
entertaining,  in  an  unobtrusive  fashion,  many  of  the 
greatest  people  in  France ;  for  the  entree  of  few  houses 
was  more  eagerly  sought  than  our  own.  Though  we 
were  not  so  well  born  as  some,  nor  so  rich  as  many, 
my  mother  contrived  to  be  always  in  request,  and  to 

67 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

make  her  salon  the  centre  of  all  the  gaiety  and  wit 
of  France. 

"  From  her  earliest  infancy  my  sister  Berthe  was 
counted  one  of  the  company  at  the  chateau,  and  while 
I  was  at  the  lycee  and  afterwards  at  St.  Cyr,  she  was 
leading  the  life  of  a  great  lady  at  Nemours.  Marshals 
of  France  were  her  cavaliers ;  famous  poets  and  musi 
cians  played  with  her  dolls  and  shared  her  confidences  j 
men  and  women  distinguished  in  a  thousand  ways 
paid  court  to  her  childish  beauty.  Beauty,  perhaps, 
I  ought  not  to  say,  for  her  charm  lay  most  in  the  ex 
traordinary  liveliness  and  intrepidity  of  her  character, 
which  captivated  every  beholder.  Indeed,  she  ought 
to  have  been  the  man  of  the  family,  I  the  girl— so 
diverse  were  our  tastes  and  aspirations,  our  whole 
outlook  on  life. 

"  You,  of  course,  cannot  recollect  the  amazing  revo 
lution  that  swept  over  Europe  when  I  was  a  young 
man— that  upheaval  of  everything  old,  accepted,  and 
conventional,  which  was  confined  to  no  one  country, 
but  raged  equally  throughout  them  all.  Huxley, 
Darwin,  Haeckel,  Renan,  and  Herbert  Spencer  were 
names  that  grew  familiar  by  incessant  repetition ; 
young  ladies  whom  one  remembered  last  in  boxes  at 
the  opera,  or  surrounded  by  admirers  at  balls  and  great 
assemblies,  now  threw  themselves  passionately  into 
this  new  Renaissance.  One  you  would  find  studying 
higher  mathematics  j  another  geology  and  chemistry  • 
another  still,  teaching  the  children  of  thieves  and  cut 
throats  how  to  read.  Girls  you  had  seen  at  their 
father's  table,  with  downcast  eyes  and  blushes  when 

68 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

one  spoke  to  them,  now  demanded  separate  establish 
ments  of  their  own ;  worked  their  way,  if  necessary, 
through  foreign  universities ;  fought  like  little  tigers 
for  the  privilege  of  studying  till  two  in  the  morning 
and  starving  with  one  another  in  the  gloomiest  parts 
of  the  town.  Nor  were  the  young  men  behind  their 
sisters:  to  them  also  had  come  the  new  revelation, 
this  self-denying  and  austere  standard  of  life,  this  re 
ligion  of  violent  intellectual  eifort.  To  many  it  was 
ennobling  to  a  supreme  degree ;  and  while  our  girls 
boldly  made  their  way  into  avenues  hitherto  closed  to 
women,  there  were  everywhere  young  men,  no  less 
ardent  and  disinterested,  to  support  them  in  the  melee. 
In  every  house  there  was  this  revolt  of  the  young 
against  the  old,  this  perpetual  argument  of  humani- 
tarianism  against  apathy  and  laisser-faire. 

u  To  me  it  all  seemed  the  most  frightful  madness. 
I  was  bewildered  to  see  bright  eyes  pursuing  studies 
which  I  knew  myself  to  be  so  wearisome,  taking  joy 
where  I  had  found  only  vexation  and  fatigue.  Like 
all  my  caste,  I  was  old-fashioned  and  thought  a  wo 
man's  place  at  home.  You  must  not  go  to  the  army 
for  new  ideas.  It  was  no  pleasure  to  me  to  see  deli 
cately  nurtured  ladies  rubbing  shoulders  with  raw 
medical  students  or  tainting  their  pretty  ears  with  the 
unrestrained  conversation  of  men.  You  must  remem 
ber  how  things  have  changed  in  eighteen  years ;  you 
can  scarcely  conceive  the  position  of  those  forerunners 
of  your  sex  in  Europe,  so  much  has  public  opinion 
altered  for  the  better.  In  my  day  we  went  to  ex 
tremes  on  either  side,  for  it  was  then  that  the  battle 

69 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

was  fought.  The  elders  would  not  give  way  an  inch  j 
the  children  dashed  into  a  thousand  extravagances. 
To  some  it  looked  as  though  the  dissolution  of  society 
was  at  hand.  Girls  asked  men  to  marry  them,— men 
they  had  seen  perhaps  but  once,— in  order  that  they 
might  gain  the  freedom  accorded  to  married  women 
and  secure  themselves  against  the  intolerable  inter 
ference  of  their  families.  Some  of  them  never  saw 
their  husbands  again,  nor  could  even  recollect  their 
names  without  an  effort.  Ah,  it  was  frightful !  It 
was  a  revolution ! 

"In  spite  of  all  her  liberal  opinions,  her  unconven 
tional  views,  her  apparent  allegiance  to  the  new 
religion,  my  mother  soon  took  her  place  amid  the 
reactionary  ranks,  while  my  sister,  the  mondaine,  just 
as  surely  joined  the  rebellion.  As  I  said  before,  it  was 
the  battle  of  the  young  against  the  old;  age,  rather 
than  conviction,  assigned  one's  position  in  the  fight. 
Our  house,  hitherto  so  free  from  domestic  discord, 
became  the  theatre  of  furious  quarrels  between  mother 
and  daughter— quarrels  not  about  gowns,  allowances, 
suitors,  or  unpaid  bills,  but  involving  questions  ab 
stract  and  sublime  :  one's  liberty  of  free  development ; 
one's  duty  to  one's  self,  to  mankind ;  one's  obligation, 
in  fact,  to  cast  off  all  shackles  and  take  one's  place  in 
the  revolution  so  auspiciously  beginning. 

"  The  end  of  it  was  that  Berthe  left  Nemours,  com 
ing  to  Paris  without  my  mother's  permission,  to  study 
medicine  with  a  Russian  friend  of  hers,  a  girl  as  de 
fiant  and  undaunted  as  herself.  This  was  Sonia  Bo- 
remykin,  with  whose  name  you  must  be  familiar. 

70 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

Needless  to  say,  I  was  interdicted  from  giving  any 
assistance  to  my  sister,  my  mother  imploring  me  not 
to  supply  the  means  by  which  Berthe's  ruin  might  be 
accomplished.  But  I  could  not  allow  my  sister  to 
starve  to  death  in  a  garret,  and  if  I  disobeyed  my  poor 
mother,  she  had  at  least  the  satisfaction  of  knowing 
that  my  sympathies  were  on  her  side  of  the  quarrel. 
My  greatest  distress,  indeed,  was  that  Berthe  would 
accept  so  little,  for  she  was  crazy  to  be  a  martyr,  and 
was,  besides,  prompted  by  a  generous  feeling  not  to 
take  a  sou  more  than  the  meagre  earnings  of  her 
companion.  So  they  lived  and  starved  together,  these 
two  remarkable  young  women,  turning  their  backs  on 
every  luxury  and  refinement.  Either,  for  the  askin  g, 
could  have  received  a  thousand-franc  note  within  the 
hour  j  for  each  a  chateau  stood  with  open  doors ;  for 
each  there  was  a  dowry  of  more  than  respectable 
dimensions,  and  lovers  who  would  have  been  glad  to 
take  them  for  their  beaux  yeux  alone  !  And  yet  they 
chose  to  live  in  a  garret,  to  be  constantly  affronted  as 
they  went  unescorted  through  the  wickedest  parts  of 
Paris,  to  subsist  on  food  the  most  unappetising  and 
unwholesome.  For  what  ?  To  cut  up  dead  paupers 
in  the  Sorbonne ! 

"  I  was  often  there  to  see  them  with  the  self-imposed 
task  of  trying  to  lighten  the  burden  of  their  sacrifices. 
I  introduced  food  in  paper  bags,  and  surreptitiously 
dropped  napoleons  in  dark  corners — that  is,  until  I 
was  once  detected.  Afterwards  they  watched  me  like 
hawks.  Sometimes  they  were  so  hungry  that  tears 
came  into  their  eyes  at  the  sight  of  what  I  brought; 

71 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

at  others  they  would  appear  insulted,  and  throw  it 
remorselessly  out  of  the  window.  Though  I  had  no 
sympathy  whatever  with  their  aims,  I  was  profoundly 
interested,  profoundly  touched,  as  one  might  be  at 
the  sight  of  an  heroic  enemy.  Their  convictions  were 
not  my  convictions ;  their  mode  of  life  I  thought  de 
testable  :  but  who  could  withhold  admiration  for  so 
much  courage,  so  much  self-denial,  in  two  beautiful 
young  women?  I  used  often  to  bring  with  me 
my  old  colonel,  a  glorious  veteran  with  whom  I 
was  always  a  favourite,  and  the  girls  liked  to  hear 
our  sabres  clank  as  we  mounted  the  grimy  stair, 
and  to  see  our  brilliant  uniforms  in  their  garret. 
It  reminded  them  of  the  monde  they  had  resigned ;  be 
sides,  they  needed  an  audience  of  their  own  caste 
who  could  appreciate,  as  none  other,  their  sacrifices 
and  their  fortitude.  Mademoiselle  Sonia  used  to 
look  very  kindly  at  me  on  the  occasion  of  my  visits, 
never  growing  angry,  as  my  sister  did,  at  my  stu 
pidity,  or  by  my  failure  to  understand  their  high- 
flown  notions  of  duty.  Once,  when  I  was  acciden 
tally  hurt  at  the  salle  d'armes  by  a  button  coming 
off  my  opponent's  foil,  it  was  she  who  dressed  my 
wound  with  the  greatest  tenderness  and  skill,  con 
verting  me  for  all  time  as  to  the  medical  career  for 
women.  Poor  Sonia,  how  her  eyes  sparkled  at  her 
little  triumph ! 

"  On  one  of  my  visits  I  was  thunder-struck  to  find 
before  me  the  Marquis  de  Gonse,  a  gentleman  much 
older  than  myself,  with  whom  I  had  not  actual  ac 
quaintance,  though  we  had  a  host  of  friends  in  com- 

72 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

mon.  Upon  his  departure  I  protested  vehemently 
against  this  outrage  of  the  proprieties.  I  besought 
them  to  show  a  little  more  circumspection  in  their 
choice  of  friends,  admitting  no  man  to  their  intimacy 
who  counted  not  his  fifty  years.  But  my  protestations 
were  received  with  laughter  j  I  was  told  that  the  mar 
quis  was  a  friend  of  Sonia's  father,  and  was  trying  to 
effect  a  reconciliation  highly  to  be  desired.  Berth e 
accused  me  mockingly  of  wishing  to  keep  the  little 
Russian  to  myself.  Indeed,  she  said,  what  could  be 
more  demoralising  to  her  companion  than  the  constant 
presence  of  a  beautiful  young  hussar?  With  her 
saucy  tongue  she  put  me  completely  to  the  blush  j  in 
vain  I  pleaded  and  argued ;  de  Gonse's  footing  was 
assured.  Yet,  if  they  had  searched  all  Paris,  they 
could  not  have  found  a  man  more  undesirable,  or  more 
dangerous  for  two  young  women  to  know.  Ardent, 
generous,  and  himself  full  of  aspirations  for  the  ad 
vancement  of  humanity,  nothing  was  better  calculated 
to  appeal  to  him  than  the  struggle  in  which  my  sister 
was  engaged.  His  sympathy,  his  sincere  desire  to 
put  his  own  shoulder  to  the  wheel,  were  more  to  be 
feared  than  the  most  strenuous  protestations  of  re 
gard.  If  he  had  made  love  to  my  sister,  she  was 
enough  a  woman  of  the  world  to  have  sent  him  to 
the  right  about  j  but  he  adopted,  all  unconsciously,  I 
am  sure,  a  more  subtle  plan  to  win  her  good  opinion : 
he  was  converted ! 

"  If  I  shut  my  eyes  I  can  see  him  sitting  there  in 
that  low  garret  as  he  appeared  on  one  occasion  which 
particularly  imprinted  itself  on  my  mind ;  such  a  high- 

73 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

bred,  such  a  distinguished  figure,  with  his  silk  hat  and 
gloves  beside  the  box  which  had  been  given  him  for 
a  chair,  and  his  face  full  of  wonder  and  sadness !  You 
have  read  of  Marie  Antoinette  in  prison,  of  her  suffer 
ings  so  uncomplainingly  borne,  of  her  nobility  and 
steadfastness  in  the  squalor  of  her  cell !  You  have 
revolted,  perhaps,  at  the  picture— clinched  your  little 
fists  and  felt  a  great  bursting  of  the  heart?  It  was 
thus  with  M.  de  Gonse.  Berthe  he  had  often  seen  at 
our  chateau  in  Nemours ;  Sonia's  father  he  had  known 
in  Russia,  a  general  of  reputation,  standing  high  in  the 
favour  of  the  Czar.  None  was  better  aware  than  he  of 
what  the  young  ladies  had  given  up.  I  could  see  that 
he  was  deeply  moved.  He  asked  many  questions ;  at 
times  he  exclaimed  beneath  his  breath.  He  insisted 
on  learning  everything— the  amount  of  their  income, 
the  nature  of  their  studies,  all  their  makeshifts  and 
contrivances.  The  two  beautiful,  solitary  girls,  from 
whom  sympathy  and  appreciation  had  so  long  been 
withheld,  unbared  their  lives  to  us  without  reserve. 
Berthe  told  us,  amid  the  passionate  interjections  of 
Sonia  Boremykin,  the  story  of  their  struggles  at  the 
medical  school :  the  open  hostility  of  the  professors ; 
the  brutal  sneers  and  innuendoes ;  the  indescribable 
affronts  that  had  been  put  upon  them.  During  this 
terrible  recital— for  it  was  terrible  to  hear  of  out 
rages  so  patiently  borne,  of  insults  which  bring  the 
blood  to  the  cheek  even  to  remember  after  all  these 
years — de  Gonse  rose  more  than  once  from  his  seat, 
walking  up  and  down  like  one  possessed,  uttering 
cries  of  rage  and  pity.  It  was  no  feigned  anger,  no 

74 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

play-acting  to  win  the  regard  of  these  poor  women. 
Let  me  do  the  man  that  justice. 

"  I  don't  think  my  sister  was  prepared  for  the  effect 
of  her  eloquence  on  the  marquis,  or  could  have  fore 
seen,  even  for  a  moment,  the  tempest  she  had  raised 
within  his  breast.  He  swore  he  would  challenge  every 
professor  in  the  school ;  that  he  would  unloose  spad- 
assins  on  the  offending  students,  whose  bones  should 
be  broken  with  clubs ;  that  to  blight  their  careers  in 
after  life  he  would  make  his  business,  his  pleasure, 
his  joy !  It  was  with  difficulty  that  he  was  recalled 
to  the  realities  of  every-day  existence,  my  sister  tell 
ing  him  frankly  that  such  a  course  as  he  proposed 
might  benefit  woman  in  general,  but  could  not  fail  to 
destroy  the  future  of  herself  and  Sonia  Boremykin. 
To  be  everywhere  talked  about,  to  get  their  names 
into  the  newspapers,  to  be  pointed  at  on  the  street  as 
the  victims  of  frightful  insults— what  could  be  more 
detestable,  more  ruinous  to  the  careers  they  hoped  to 
make  ?  De  Gonse  was  reluctantly  compelled  to  with 
draw  his  plans  of  extermination ;  for  who  could  con 
trovert  the  logic  with  which  they  were  demolished  or 
fail  to  see  the  justice  of  my  sister's  contention  ?  Con 
fessing  himself  beaten  on  this  point,  he  sought  for 
some  other  solution  of  the  problem.  Private  tutors  ? 
Intolerably  expensive,  came  the  answer ;  poor  substi 
tutes  for  one  of  the  greatest  schools  in  Europe  j  un 
able,  besides,  to  confer  the  longed-for  degree.  The 
University  of  Geneva,  famous  for  its  generous  treat 
ment  of  women?  Good,  but  its  diploma  would  not 
carry  the  desired  prestige  in  France.  I  hazarded  boys' 

75 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

clothes  and  false  mustaches;  but  my  remark  was 
greeted  with  a  shout  of  laughter  and  a  half -blushing 
confession  from  Mademoiselle  Sonia  that  one  experi 
ment  in  this  direction  had  sufficed.  It  was  to  the 
marquis  that  light  finally  came. 

"  l  Fool !  Idiot ! '  he  thundered,  striking  himself  on 
his  handsome  forehead  with  his  fist.  l  Why  did  I  not 
think  of  it  before?  To-morrow  I  join  the  medical 
school  myself— the  student  de  Gronse,  cousin  of  the 
marquis,  a  man  tired  of  the  hollowness  and  the  triv 
ialities  of  high  life.  I  do  nothing  to  show  I  am 
acquainted  with  you,  nothing  to  compromise  you  in 
the  faintest  manner.  But  de  Gonse,  the  medical  stu 
dent,  is  a  gentleman,  a  man  of  honour.  A  companion 
ventures  on  a  remark  derogatory  to  the  dignity  of  the 
young  ladies ;  behold,  his  head  cracks  like  an  egg 
against  his  desk !  Another  opens  his  mouth,  only  to 
discover  that  le  boxe  (you  know  I  am  quite  an  Anglais) 
is  driving  the  teeth  down  his  throat,  setting  up  med 
ical  complications  of  an  extraordinary  and  baffling 
nature.  A  professor  so  far  forgets  his  manhood  as 
to  heap  insults  on  the  undefended ;  the  strange  med 
ical  student  tweaks  his  nose  in  the  tribune  and  chal 
lenges  him  to  combat !  How  simple,  how  direct ! ' 

"  Imagine  my  surprise  a  few  days  later  to  learn  that 
this  had  been  no  idle  gasconade  on  the  marquis's  part. 
True  to  his  word,  he  had  appeared  at  the  school  elab 
orately  attired  for  the  part  he  was  to  play,  even  to  a 
detestable  cravat  and  a  profusion  of  cheap  jewellery ! 
Unquestionably  there  must  have  been  others  in  the 
plot,  for  no  formalities  anywhere  tied  his  hands  or 


76 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

opposed  the  least  obstacle  to  his  audacity.  As  one 
would  have  expected  from  a  man  so  eager  and  so  full 
of  resource,  the  object  for  which  he  came  was  soon 
achieved.  Mingling  with  the  students  as  one  of  them 
selves,  he  singled  out  those  who  went  the  farthest  in 
persecuting  the  women,  and  insensibly  cajoled  them 
into  a  better  way  of  conduct.  The  minority,  too,  those 
that  still  kept  alive  the  chivalry  of  young  France,  were 
strengthened  and  encouraged  by  the  force  of  his  ex 
ample,  so  that  the  crusade,  once  authoritatively  begun, 
went  on  magnificently  of  itself.  Not  a  blow  was 
struck,  not  a  wry  word  said,  and  behold,  de  Gonse  had 
accomplished  a  miracle !  From  that  time  the  position 
of  women  was  assured ;  protectors  arose  on  every  side 
as  though  by  magic ;  in  a  word,  gallantry  became  the 
fashion.  When  professors  ventured  on  impertinences, 
hisses  now  greeted  them  in  place  of  cheers;  they 
changed  colour,  and  were  at  pains  to  explain  away 
their  words.  The  battle,  indeed,  was  won. 

"  Had  de  Gonse  contented  himself  with  this  victory, 
which  saved  my  sister  and  Mademoiselle  Sonia  from 
countless  mortifications,  how  much  human  misery 
would  have  been  averted,  how  great  a  tragedy  would 
have  remained  unplayed !  But  evil  and  good  are  in 
explicably  blended  in  this  world,  a  commonplace  of 
whose  truth,  mademoiselle,  you  will  have  many  oppor 
tunities  of  verifying.  Having  acted  so  manly  a  part, 
one  so  calculated  to  earn  the  gratitude  and  esteem  of 
these  poor  girls,  he  turned  from  one  to  the  other,  won 
dering  with  which  he  should  reward  himself.  I  have 
reason  to  think  his  choice  first  fell  on  Sonia  Boreiny- 

77 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

kin,  who  had  the  whitest  skin  and  the  prettiest  blue 
eyes  in  the  world.  How  can  I  doubt,  to  judge  from  her 
wild,  tragic  after  life,  but  that  he  could  have  persuaded 
her  to  her  ruin  ?  But  he  must  have  paused  half-way, 
struck  by  the  incomparable  superiority  of  my  sister. 
In  beauty  she  was  not  perhaps  the  equal  of  her  com 
panion,  though  to  compare  blonde  and  brune  is  a  mat 
ter  of  supererogation.  In  other  ways,  at  least,  there 
never  lived  a  woman  more  desirable  than  Berthe  de 
Charruel.  She  possessed  to  a  supreme  degree  the 
charm  that  springs  from  intelligence,— I  might  say 
from  genius,— which,  when  found  in  the  person  of  a 
young  and  beautiful  woman,  is  almost  irresistible  to 
any  man  that  gains  her  favour.  Jeanne  d'Arc  was  such 
another  as  my  poor  sister,  and  must  have  been  im 
pelled  on  her  career  by  something  of  the  same  fire, 
something  of  the  same  passionate  earnestness.  To 
break  a  heart  like  hers  seemed  to  de  Gonse  the  crown 
to  a  hundred  vulgar  intrigues  and  bonnes  fortunes. 

"  Of  course,  I  knew  nothing  of  this  gradual  undoing 
of  my  sister,  though  during  the  course  of  my  visits  to 
the  little  garret  I  often  found  the  marquis  in  the  so 
ciety  of  Berthe  and  her  friend.  I  disliked  to  see  him 
there,  but  I  was  powerless  to  interfere.  I  was  often 
puzzled,  indeed,  by  the  ambiguous  conduct  of  Made 
moiselle  Sonia,  who  had  the  queerest  way  of  looking 
at  me,  and  whose  eyes  were  always  meeting  mine  in 
singular  glances,  whether  of  warning  or  appeal  I  was 
at  a  loss  to  tell.  Her  words,  too,  often  left  me  uneasy, 
recurring  to  me  constantly  when  I  was  in  the  saddle 
at  the  head  of  my  troop  or  as  I  lay  awake  in  bed  await- 

78 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

ing  the  reveille.  I  wondered  if  the  little  Russian 
were  making  love  to  me,  for,  like  all  hussars,  I  was 
something  of  a  coxcomb,  though,  to  do  me  justice, 
neither  a  lady-killer  nor  a  pursuer  of  adventures.  It 
was  in  my  profession  that  I  found  my  only  distrac 
tion,  my  only  mistress.  I  am  almost  ashamed  to  tell 
you  how  good  I  was,  how  innocent— how  in  me  the 
Puritan  stock  of  my  mother  seemed  to  find  a  fresh 
recrudescence.  Some  thought  me  a  hypocrite,  others 
a  coward ;  but  I  was  neither. 

"  I  learned  the  truth  late  one  afternoon  from  Sonia 
Boremykin,  who  came  to  my  quarters  closely  veiled, 
in  a  condition  of  agitation  the  most  frightful.  I  could 
not  believe  her  j  I  seemed  to  see  only  another  of  her 
devices  to  win  my  regard.  My  sister !  My  Berthe  ! 
It  was  impossible  !  I  said  to  her  the  cruelest  things ; 
I  was  beside  myself.  She  went  on  her  knees  j  she  hid 
nothing;  it  was  all  true.  My  anger  flamed  like  a 
blazing  fire ;  I  rushed  out  of  the  barracks  regardless 
of  my  duties— of  everything  except  revenge.  A  lucky 
rencontre  on  the  street  put  me  on  de  Gonse's  track, 
and  I  ran  him  down  in  the  salle  of  the  Jockey  Club. 
He  was  standing  under  one  of  the  windows,  reading 
a  letter  by  the  fading  light,  a  note,  as  like  as  not,  he 
had  just  received  from  Berthe.  I  think  he  changed 
colour  when  he  saw  me ;  at  least,  he  drew  back  with  a 
start. 

"  I  lifted  my  glove  and  struck  him  square  across 
his  handsome  face. 

" i  You  will  understand  what  that  is  for,  M.  le 
Marquis  de  Gonse ! '  I  cried. 

79 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

"  He  turned  deadly  white,  and  with  a  quick  move 
ment  caught  my  wrists  in  both  his  hands. 

"  l  Mon  enfant ! '  he  exclaimed  in  a  loud  voice,  which 
he  tried  to  invest  with  a  tone  of  jocularity,  <  you  carry 
your  high  spirits  beyond  all  reason  j  I  am  too  old  to 
enjoy  being  hit  upon  the  nose.'  Then  in  a  lower  key 
he  whispered:  'Paul,  calm  thyself;  for  the  love  of 
God,  do  not  force  a  quarrel.  Come  outside  and  let  us 
talk  with  calmness.' 

"  But  I  was  in  no  humour  to  be  cajoled.  I  fiercely 
shook  off  his  restraining  hands.  l  Messieurs/  I  cried, 
as  the  others,  detecting  a  scene,  began  to  close  round 
us,  'Messieurs,  behold  how  I  buffet  the  face  of  the 
Marquis  de  Gonse ! '  And  with  that  I  again  flicked 
my  glove  across  his  face. 

"  De  Gonse  slunk  back  with  a  sort  of  sob. 

" l  Captain  de  Charruel  and  I  have  had  an  unfor 
tunate  difference  of  opinion,'  he  cried,  recovering  his 
aplomb  on  the  instant.  'It  seems  we  cannot  agree 
upon  the  Spanish  Succession.  M.  le  Comte,  my  sec 
onds  will  await  on  you  this  evening.' 

"  I  turned  and  left  the  club,  my  head  in  a  whirl,  my 
face  so  distraught  and  haggard  that  I  carried  conster 
nation  through  the  jostling  street,  the  people  making 
way  for  me  as  though  I  were  a  madman.  To  obtain 
seconds  was  my  immediate  preoccupation,  a  task  of  no 
difficulty  for  a  young  hussar.  My  colonel  kindly  con 
descended  to  act,  and  with  him  my  friend  Nicholas  van 
Greef ,  the  military  attache  of  the  Netherlands  govern 
ment.  To  both  I  told  the  same  story  of  the  Spanish 
Succession  and  the  quarrel  of  which  it  had  been  the 

80 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

occasion.  But  my  colonel  smiled  and  laid  a  meaning 
finger  against  his  nose ;  the  Dutchman  said  drily  it 
was  well  to  keep  ladies'  names  out  of  such  affairs.  I 
am  convinced,  however,  that  neither  of  them  had  the 
faintest  glimmering  of  the  truth.  Having  thus  ar 
ranged  matters  with  my  seconds,  I  attempted  next  to 
find  my  poor  sister,  hastening  up  her  interminable 
stairs  with  an  impatience  I  leave  you  to  imagine. 
Needless  to  say,  she  was  not  in  the  garret,  which  was 
inhabited  by  Mademoiselle  Sonia  alone,  her  pretty 
face  swollen  with  weeping,  her  humour  one  of  extraor 
dinary  caprices  and  contradictions.  She  blamed  me 
altogether  for  the  catastrophe :  I  ought  not  to  have 
given  Berthe  a  sou ;  I  ought  to  have  starved  her  back 
into  servitude.  Women  were  intended  for  slaves ;  to 
make  them  free  was  to  give  them  the  rope  to  hang 
themselves.  For  her  part,  said  mademoiselle,  she 
thought  a  convent  the  right  place  for  girls,  and  cro 
chet  work  the  best  occupation  !  At  any  other  time  I 
might  have  stared  to  hear  such  sentiments  from  my 
sister's  friend,  but  for  the  moment  I  could  think  of 
nothing  but  Berthe.  To  find  her  was  my  one  desire. 
In  this,  however,  Sonia  would  afford  me  no  assistance, 
frankly  asking  what  would  be  the  good. 

"  *  The  harm  is  done,  my  poor  Paul/  she  said,  look 
ing  at  me  sorrowfully.  'Why  should  I  expose  you 
or  her  to  an  interview  so  unpleasant  ?  How  could  it 
profit  any  one  ? 7 

"  I  could  not  altogether  see  the  force  of  this  acqui 
escence  in  evil.  I  said  that  the  honour  of  one  of  the 
oldest  families  in  France  was  at  stake  5  that  if  my 

81 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

sister  did  not  leave  the  marquis  I  should  kill  her  with 
my  own  hands  and  fly  the  country.  I  implored  Mad 
emoiselle  Sonia,  with  every  argument  I  thought  might 
move  her,  to  betray  my  sister's  hiding-place.  But  she 
kept  putting  me  off,  mocked  at  my  impatience,  and 
tried  to  learn,  on  her  side,  whether  or  not  I  meant  to 
fight  de  Gonse. 

" '  If  you  really  wish  to  find  out  where  she  is/  she 
cried  at  last, l  why  don't  you  make  me  tell  you  ?  Why 
don't  you  take  me  by  the  throat  and  pound  my  head 
against  the  wall,  as  they  do  down-stairs  with  such 
admirable  success?  Those  women  positively  adore 
their  men.'  As  she  spoke  she  threw  back  her  head 
and  exposed  her  charming  neck  with  a  gesture  half 
defiant,  half  submissive !  Upon  my  soul,  I  felt  like 
carrying  her  suggestion  into  effect  and  choking  her  in 
good  earnest,  for  I  had  become  furious  at  her  con 
trariety.  But,  restraining  the  impulse,  I  saw  there 
was  nothing  left  for  me  save  to  retire. 

"  l Mademoiselle  Boremykin,'  I  said,  'you  are  heart 
less  and  wicked  beyond  anything  I  could  have  ima 
gined  possible.  You  have  helped  to  bring  a  noble  name 
to  dishonour,  and  in  place  of  remorse  your  only  feel 
ings  seem  those  of  levity.  I  have  the  honour  of  wish 
ing  you  good  day.' 

"  De  Gonse  and  I  met  the  following  morning  in  the 
Bois  de  Boulogne.  His  had  been  the  choice  of  arms, 
and  he  selected  rapiers,  knowing,  like  all  men  of  the 
world,  that  a  pistol  has  the  knack  of  killing.  I  ground 
my  teeth  at  his  decision,  for  he  had  the  reputation  of 
being  a  fine  fencer,  while  I  could  boast  no  more  than 

82 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

the  average  proficiency.  He  appeared  to  great  advan 
tage  on  the  field ;  so  cool,  so  handsome,  such  a  grand 
seigneur— in  every  way  so  marked  a  contrast  to  my 
self.  It  was  not  unnatural,  however :  he  was  there  to 
prick  me  in  the  shoulder,  I  to  kill  him  if  I  could. 
Small  wonder  that  my  face  was  livid,  that  my  eyes 
burned  like  coals  in  my  head,  that  I  was  petulant  with 
my  own  seconds,  insulting  towards  my  adversary's. 
I  looked  at  these  with  scorn,  the  supporters  of  a 
scoundrel,  themselves,  no  doubt,  seducers  and  liber 
tines  like  him  they  served.  My  dear  old  colonel  chid 
me  for  my  discourtesy— bade  me  be  a  gaJant  Jwmme 
for  his  sake,  if  not  for  mine.  I  kissed  his  wrinkled 
hand  before  them  all;  I  said  I  respected  men  only 
who  were  honourable  like  himself.  Every  one  laughed 
at  my  extravagance,  at  the  poor  old  man's  embarrass 
ment.  It  was  plain  they  considered  me  a  coward. 
They  said  things  I  could  not  help  overhearing.  But  I 
cared  for  nothing.  My  God,  no  !  I  was  there  to  kill 
de  Gonse,  not  to  pick  quarrels  with  his  friends. 

"  We  were  placed  in  position.  Everything  was  en 
regie.  The  doctors,  of  whom  there  were  a  couple,  lit 
cigarettes  and  did  not  even  trouble  to  open  their  wal 
lets.  They  knew  it  to  be  an  affair  of  scratches. 

"The  handkerchief  fell.  We  set  to,  warily,  cau 
tiously,  looking  into  each  other's  eyes  like  wild  beasts. 
More  than  once  he  could  have  killed  me,  so  openly 
did  I  expose  myself  to  his  attack,  so  unconscionably 
did  I  force  him  back,  hoping  to  give  lunge  for  lunge, 
my  life  for  his.  But  in  his  adventurous  past  de 
Gonse  must  often  have  crossed  swords  with  men  no 

83 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

less  desperate  than  myself;  it  was  no  new  thing  to 
him  to  face  a  determined  foe,  or  to  guard  himself 
against  thrusts  that  were  meant  to  kill.  His  temper 
was  under  admirable  control ;  he  handled  his  weapon 
like  a  master  in  the  school  of  arms,  and  allowed 
me  to  tire  myself  out  against  what  seemed  a  wall 
of  steel.  Suddenly  he  forced  my  guard  with  a  stroke 
like  a  lightning-flash;  I  felt  my  left  arm  burn  as 
though  melted  wax  had  been  dropped  upon  it. 
Some  one  seized  my  sword ;  some  one  caught  me  in 
his  arms ! 

"My  dizziness,  my  bewilderment,  were  the  sensa 
tions  of  a  moment,  and  in  a  trice  I  was  myself  again. 
The  wound  was  nothing— a  nicely  calculated  stroke 
through  the  fleshy  part  of  the  arm.  I  laughed  when 
they  talked  of  honour  satisfied  and  of  our  return  to 
barracks.  I  said  I  never  felt  better  in  my  life.  It 
was  true,  for  I  was  possessed  with  a  berserker  rage, 
as  they  call  it  in  the  old  Norse  sagas ;  a  bullet  through 
my  heart  could  not  have  hurt  me  then.  The  seconds 
demurred ;  they  told  me  that  I  was  in  their  hands ; 
that  I  was  overruled;  repeated,  like  parrots,  that 
honour  was  satisfied.  This  only  made  me  laugh  the 
more.  I  went  up  to  the  marquis  and  asked  him  were 
it  necessary  for  me  to  strike  him  again  ?  I  called  him 
a  coward,  and  swore  I  would  post  him  in  every  salon 
and  club  in  Paris.  I  slapped  him  in  the  face  with  my 
bare  hand— my  right,  for  my  left  felt  numb  and 
strange.  There  was  another  scene.  De  Gonse  ap 
peared  discomposed  for  the  first  time ;  the  seconds 
were  pale  and  more  than  perturbed.  One  had  a  sense 

84 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

of  death  being  in  the  air.  There  were  consultations 
apart  j  appeals  to  which  I  would  not  listen ;  expostula 
tions  as  idle  as  the  wind.  De  Gonse,  trembling  with 
wrath,  left  himself  unreservedly  to  his  seconds,  walk 
ing  up  and  down  at  a  little  distance  like  a  sentinel 
on  duty.  I  also  strolled  about  to  show  how  strong 
and  fit  I  was— the  angriest,  the  bitterest  man  in 
France. 

"  At  length  it  was  decided  that  we  might  continue 
the  combat.  De  Gonse  solemnly  protested,  bidding  us 
all  take  notice  that  he  had  been  allowed  no  alterna 
tive.  My  colonel  was  almost  in  tears.  Repeatedly, 
as  a  favour  to  himself,  he  besought  me  to  apologise 
for  that  second  blow  and  retire  from  the  field.  But 
I  was  adamant.  '  Mon  colonel,'  I  said  to  him,  in  a 
whisper,  '  this  is  a  quarrel  in  which  one  of  us  must 
fall.  Let  me  assure  you  it  is  not  about  a  trifle/ 

"  Again  we  ranged  ourselves ;  again  we  grasped  our 
rapiers,  saluted,  and  stood  ready  for  the  game  to  be 
gin.  The  marquis's  coolness  had  somewhat  forsaken 
him.  The  finest  equanimity  is  ruffled  by  a  buffet  in  the 
face ;  one  cannot  command  calm  at  will.  His  friends 
said  afterwards  that  he  showed  extraordinary  self-con 
trol,  but  I  should  rather  have  described  it  as  extraor 
dinary  uneasiness.  No  duellist  cares  for  a  berserker 
foe.  De  Gonse  was,  moreover,  of  a  superstitious  fancy. 
There  are  such  things,  besides,  as  presentiments;  I 
think  he  must  have  had  one  then.  God  knows,  per 
haps  he  was  struggling  with  remorse.  The  handker 
chief  fell;  we  crossed  swords,  and  the  combat  was 
resumed  with  the  utmost  vivacity.  The  air  rang  with 

85 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

the  shivering  steel.  The  doctors  smoked  no  longer,  but 
looked  on  with  open  mouths.  A  duel  in  grim  earnest 
is  seldom  seen  in  France,  though  I  venture  to  say  there 
was  one  that  morning.  It  lasted  only  a  minute  j  we 
had  scarcely  well  begun  before  I  felt  a  stinging  in  my 
side,  and  saw,  as  in  a  dream,  my  enemy's  triumphant 
face,  red  with  his  exertions.  The  exasperation  of  that 
moment  passes  the  power  of  words  to  describe.  This 
was  my  revenge,  this  a  villain's  punishment  on  the 
field  of  honour !  He  would  leave  it  without  a  scratch, 
to  be  lionised  in  salons,  to  relate  in  boudoirs  the  true 
inwardness  of  the  quarrel !  Remember,  I  felt  all  this 
within  the  confines  of  a  single  second,  as  a  drowning 
man  in  no  more  brief  a  space  passes  his  entire  life  in 
review.  Imagine,  if  you  can,  my  rage,  my  uncontrol 
lable  indignation,  my  unbounded  fury.  What  I  did 
then  I  would  do  now,— by  God,  I  would,— if  need  be, 
a  dozen  times  !  I  caught  his  rapier  in  my  left  hand 
and  held  it  in  the  aching  wound,  while  with  my  unim 
peded  right  I  stabbed  him  through  the  body,  again 
and  again,  with  amazing  swiftness— so  that  he  fell 
pierced  in  six  places.  There  was  a  terrible  outcry ; 
shouts  of  *  Murder ! J  i  Coward ! '  l  Assassin  ! '  on  every 
side  looks  of  horror  and  detestation.  One  of  the 
marquis's  seconds  beset  me  like  a  maniac  with  his 
cane,  and  I  believe  I  should  have  killed  him  too  had 
not  the  old  colonel  run  between  us. 

"  The  other  second  was  supporting  de  Gonse's  head 
and  assisting  the  surgeons  to  staunch  the  pouring 
blood.  But  it  was  labour  lost ;  any  one  could  see  that 
he  was  doomed.  From  a  little  distance  I  watched  them 

86 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

crowding  about  him  where  he  lay  on  the  grass ;  for  I 
had  drawn  apart,  sick  and  dizzy  with  my  own  wounds, 
conscious  that  I  was  now  an  outcast  among  men.  At 
last  one  came  towards  me ;  it  was  Glut,  the  doctor.  He 
said  nothing,  but  drew  me  gently  towards  the  group 
he  had  just  quitted.  They  opened  for  me  to  pass  as 
though  I  were  a  leper.  A  second  later  I  stood  beside 
the  dying  man,  gazing  down  at  his  face. 

"  '  He  wishes  to  shake  hands  with  you/  said  the  other 
doctor,  solemnly,  guiding  the  marquis's  hand  upward 
in  his  own.  <  Let  his  death  atone,  he  says  j  he  wishes 
to  part  in  amity/ 

"I  folded  my  arms. 

"  i  No,  monsieur/  I  said.  l  What  you  ask  is  impos 
sible/  With  that  I  walked  away,  not  daring  to  look 
back  lest  I  might  falter  in  my  resolution.  I  can  say 
honestly  that  de  Gonse's  death  weighs  on  me  very 
little ;  yet  I  would  give  ten  years  of  my  life  to  unsay 
those  final  words— to  recall  that  last  brutality.  In  my 
dreams  I  often  see  him  so,  holding  out  the  hand,  which 
I  try  to  grasp.  I  hear  the  doctor  saying,  *  He  wishes 
to  part  in  amity.' 

"  I  fainted  soon  after  leaving  my  opponent's  side. 
I  lay  on  the  ground  where  I  fell,  no  one  caring  to 
come  to  my  assistance.  When  consciousness  returned 
I  saw  them  lifting  the  marquis's  body  into  a  carriage, 
and  I  needed  no  telling  to  learn  that  he  was  dead. 
My  colonel  and  Van  Greef  assisted  me  into  another 
cab,  neither  of  them  saying  a  wrord  nor  showing  me 
the  least  compassion.  I  suppose  I  should  have  been 
thankful  they  did  so  much.  Was  not  I  accursed? 

87 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

Were  they  not  involved  in  my  dishonour?  They 
abandoned  me,  wounded,  faint,  and  parching  with 
thirst,  to  find  my  own  way  to  Paris.  Alone?  No, 
not  altogether.  On  the  seat  beside  me  my  colonel 
laid  a  flask  of  brandy  and  a  loaded  pistol.  The  first 
I  drank;  the  revolver  I  pitched  out  of  window.  I 
never  thought  to  kill  myself.  For  cheating  at  cards, 
for  several  varieties  of  dishonour,  yes.  But  not  for 
what  I  had  done— never  in  all  the  world.  My  con 
science  was  as  undisturbed  as  that  of  a  little  child ; 
excepting  always  that— why  had  I  not  taken  his 
hand! 

"I  was  arrested,  of  course,  and  tried— tried  for 
murder.  You  see,  there  were  too  many  in  the  secret 
for  it  to  be  long  kept.  It  was  a  cause  celebre,  attract 
ing  universal  attention.  The  quarrel  concerned 
the  Spanish  Succession;  as  to  that  they  could  not 
shake  me.  There  were  many  surmises,  many  suspi 
cions,  but  no  one  stumbled  on  the  truth.  To  a  single 
man  only  was  it  told— Maitre  Le  Roux,  my  counsel. 
Him  I  had  to  tell,  for  at  first  he  would  not  take  up  my 
case  at  all.  There  was  a  great  popular  outcry  against 
me,  the  army  furious  and  ashamed,  the  bourgeoisie  in 
hysterics.  I  was  condemned ;  sentenced  to  death ;  re 
prieved  at  the  particular  intercession  of  the  Marquise 
de  Gonse,  the  dead  man's  mother,  who  threw  herself 
on  her  knees  before  the  Chief  Executive— reprieved 
to  transportation  for  life  ! 

"  You  will  be  surprised  I  mention  not  my  mother. 
Ah,  mademoiselle,  there  are  some  things  which  will 
not  permit  themselves  to  be  told— even  to  you,  'She 

88 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

went  mad.  She  died.  My  military  degradation  is 
another  of  those  things  unspeakable.  The  epaulets 
were  torn  from  my  shoulders,  the  gallons  from  my 
sleeves,  my  sword  broken  in  two  j  all  this  in  public 
before  my  regiment  in  hollow  square.  Picture  for 
yourself,  on  every  side,  those  walls  of  faces,  scarcely 
one  not  familiar ;  my  colonel,  choking  on  his  charger, 
the  agitated  master  of  ceremonies ;  my  former  friends 
and  comrades  trying  not  to  meet  my  eye  j  in  the  ranks 
many  of  my  own  troopers  crying,  and  the  officers 
swearing  at  them  below  their  breath.  My  God,  it 
was  another  Calvary ! 

"  At  Havre  they  kept  me  long  in  prison,  waiting  for 
the^transport  to  carry  me  to  New  Caledonia.  It  was 
there  I  heard' of  my  sister's  death,  the  news  being 
brought  to  me  by  a  young  French  lady,  a  friend  of 
Berthe's.  My  sister  had  poisoned  herself,  appalled  at 
what  she  had  done.  There  was  no  scandal,  however, 
no  sensational  inquiry.  She  was  too  clever  for  that, 
too  scientific  j  it  was  by  no  vulgar  means  that  she 
sought  her  end.  Assembling  her  friends,  she  bade 
them  good-bye  in  turn,  and  divided  among  them  her 
little  property,  her  money,  jewels,  and  clothes.  She 
died  in  the  typhus  hospital  to  which  she  had  volun 
teered  her  services— a  victim  to  her  own  imprudence, 
said  the  doctors ;  a  martyr  to  duty,  proclaimed  the 
world.  She  was  accorded  the  honour  of  a  municipal 
funeral  (though  her  actual  body  was  thrown  into  a  pit 
of  lime) :  the  maire  and  council  in  carriages,  the 
charity  children  on  foot,  the  pompiers  with  their  en 
gine,  a  battalion  of  the  National  Guard,  and  the  band 

89 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

of  the  Ninth  Marine  Infantry!  What  mockery! 
What  horror ! 

"  Here  in  New  Caledonia  I  looked  forward  to  endure 
frightful  sufferings,  to  be  herded  with  the  dregs  of  man 
kind  in  a  squalor  unspeakable.  But,  on  the  contrary,  I 
was  received  everywhere  with  kindness.  The  rigours  of 
imprisonment  were  relieved  by  countless  exemptions. 
I  found,  as  I  had  read  before  in  books,  that  the  sight 
of  a  great  gentleman  in  misfortune  is  one  very  moving 
to  common  minds ;  and  if  he  bears  his  sorrows  with 
manly  fortitude  and  dignity,  he  need  not  fear  for 
friends.  To  my  jailers  I  was  invariably  l  Monsieur ' ; 
they  apologised  for  intruding  on  my  privacy,  for  set 
ting  me  the  daily  task ;  they  would  have  looked  the 
other  way  had  I  been  backward  or  disinclined.  I  was 
neither,  for  I  was  not  only  ready  to  conform  to  the 
regulations,  but  something  within  me  revolted  at  be 
ing  unduly  favoured. 

"  At  the  earliest  moment  permissible  by  law  I  left 
the  prison  to  become  a  serf,  the  initial  stage  of  free 
dom,  hired  out  at  twelve  francs  a  month  to  any  one 
who  required  my  services.  I  fell  into  the  hands  of 
Fitzroy,  here,  the  mine-owner,  who  treated  me  with 
a  consideration  so  distinguished,  so  entirely  generous, 
that  when  I  earned  my  right  to  a  little  farm  of  my 
own  I  begged  and  received  permission  to  settle  near 
him.  The  government  gave  me  these  few  acres  on 
the  hill,  rations  for  a  year,  and  a  modest  complement 
of  tools  and  appliances,  exacting  only  one  condition  : 
my  parole  d'honneur.  It  is  only  Frenchmen  who  could 
ask  such  a  thing  of  a  convict,  but,  as  I  told  you  be- 

90 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

fore,  I  was  regarded  as  an  exception,  a  man  whose 
word  might  safely  be  taken. 

"  Never  was  one  less  inclined  to  escape  than  myself ; 
my  estates,  which  are  extensive  and  valuable,  would 
have  instantly  paid  the  forfeit;  and  though  I  am 
prohibited  from  receiving  a  sou  of  their  revenues,  I 
am  not  disallowed  to  direct  how  my  money  shall  be 
used.  You  will  wonder  why  I  weigh  possessions  so 
intangible  against  a  benefit  which  would  be  so  real. 
But  the  traditions  of  an  old  family  become  almost  a 
religion.  To  jeopardise  our  lands  would  be  a  sacrilege 
of  which  I  am  incapable ;  we  phantoms  come  and  go, 
but  the  race  must  continue  on  its  ancestral  acres ;  the 
noble  line  must  be  maintained  unbroken.  So  peremp 
tory  is  this  feeling  that  you  will  see  it  at  work  in 
families  that  boast  no  more  than  three  generations. 
The  father's  chateau  is  dear ;  the  grandfather's  pre 
cious;  the  great-grandfather's  a  thing  to  die  for! 
Think  what  it  is  among  those,  like  ourselves,  whose 
lineage  and  lands  go  back  to  Charlemagne  !  Though 
I  can  never  return  to  France  myself,  though  I  shall 
die  on  my  little  hillside  farm  and  be  buried  by 
strangers,  still,  it  is  much  to  me  that  the  estates  will 
pass  to  those  of  my  blood.  I  have  cousins,  children 
of  my  uncle,  who  will  succeed  me— manly,  handsome 
boys,  whose  careers  are  my  especial  care.  Their  children 
will  often  ask,— their  children's  children,  perhaps,— 
of  that  portrait  of  a  man  in  chains,  in  the  stripes  of  a 
convict,  that  hangs  in  our  great  picture-gallery  at 
Nemours,  beneath  it  this  legend :  l  Paul  de  Charruel, 
painted  in  prison  at  his  own  request.'  At  the  prompt- 

91 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

ing  of  vanity,  of  humility,— I  scarcely  know  which  to 
call  it,— I  had  this  done  before  I  quitted  France  for 
ever,  the  artist  coming  daily  to  study  me  through  the 
bars ;  and  ordered  it  hung  amid  the  effigies  of  my  race. 
I  suppose  it  hangs  there  now,  slowly  darkening  in  that 
empty  house.  It  shall  be  my  only  plea  to  posterity, 
my  only  cry. 

"  It  is  nearly  sixteen  years  ago  since  these  events 
took  place.  For  more  than  twelve  I  have  lived  like  a 
peasant  on  my  little  farm,  the  busiest  of  the  busy ;  up 
at  dawn,  to  bed  by  nine  o'clock.  Blossoming  under  a 
care  so  sedulous  and  undivided,  it  has  yielded  me  a 
rich  return  for  my  labour.  My  heart  it  has  kept  from 
breaking ;  my  hands  it  has  never  left  empty  of  a  task 
to  fill.  There  is  a  charm  in  freedom  and  solitude,  a 
solace  to  be  found  in  the  society  of  plants,  beyond 
the  power  of  words  to  adequately  express.  Our 
government  is  right  when  it  gives  the  convict  a  piece 
of  land  and  a  spade,  leaving  him  to  work  out  his  own 
salvation.  I  took  their  spade ;  I  found  their  salvation. 
On  that  hillside  there  I  have  passed  from  youth  to 
middle  age ;  my  hair  has  turned  to  grey  j  my  talents, 
my  strength,  all  that  I  have  inherited  or  acquired  in 
mind  or  body,  have  been  expended  in  hoeing  cabbages, 
in  weeding  garden-beds,  in  felling  the  forest- trees 
which  encumbered  my  little  estate.  Yet  I  have  not 
been  unhappy,  if  you  except  one  day  each  year,  a 
day  I  should  gladly  see  expunged  from  my  calendar. 
Once  a  year  I  receive  from  the  Marquise  de  Gonse  a 
letter  in  terms  the  most  touching  and  devout,  written 

92 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

in  mingled  vitriol  and  tears.  This  annual  letter  is 
to  her,  I  know,  a  supreme  sacrifice ;  every  line  of  it 
breathes  anguish  and  revolt.  To  forgive  me  has  be 
come  the  touchstone  of  her  religion,  a  test  to  which 
she  submits  herself  with  agony.  I  cannot— I  do  not— 
blame  her  for  hating  me;  I  would  not  have  her 
learn  the  truth  for  anything  on  earth :  but  is  it  a  plea 
sure  for  me  to  be  turned  the  other  cheek  ?  Is  it  any 
consolation  to  be  forgiven  in  terms  so  scathing?  It 
is  terrible,  that  piety  which  deceives  itself,  which  at 
tempts  to  achieve  what  is  impossible.  And  she  not 
only  forgives  me :  she  sends  me  little  religious  books, 
texts  to  put  upon  my  walls,  special  tracts  addressed 
to  those  in  prison.  She  asks  about  my  soul,  and  tells 
me  she  wearies  the  President  with  intercessions  for 
my  release.  Poor,  lonely  old  woman,  bereft  of  her 
only  son !  In  the  bottom  of  her  heart,  does  she  not 
wish  me  torn  limb  from  limb  ?  Would  she  not  love 
to  see  me  in  the  fires  of  hell  ? 

"  This,  mademoiselle,  concludes  my  story.  To-mor 
row,  in  your  father's  beautiful  yacht,  you  leave  our 
waters,  never  to  return.  You  will  pursue  your  ad 
venturous  voyage,  encircling  the  world,  to  reach  at 
last  that  far  American  home,  receiving  on  the  way 
countless  new  impressions  that  will  each  obliterate  the 
old.  Somewhere  there  awaits  you  a  husband,  a  man 
of  untarnished  name  and  honour.  In  his  love  you  will 
forget  still  more ;  your  memories  will  fade  into  dreams. 
Will  you  ever  recall  this  land  of  desolation?  Will 
you  ever  recall  de  Charruel  the  convict  ? " 

lie  had  not  looked  at  the  girl  once  during  the 

93 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

course  of  his  long  narrative.  He  felt  that  she  had 
been  affected— how  much  or  how  little,  he  did  not 
know,  a  certain  delicacy,  a  certain  fear,  withholding 
him.  When  at  last  he  sought  her  face  he  saw  that 
she  had  been  crying. 

"  I  shall  never  forget,"  she  said. 

They  walked  in  silence  until,  at  a  parting  of  the 
paths,  he  said:  "This  one  leads  to  my  little  cabin. 
Come ;  it  will  interest  you,  perhaps — the  roof  that  has 
sheltered  me  for  twelve  irrevocable  years.  You  are 
not  afraid  ? "  he  asked. 

She  made  a  motion  of  dissent,  drawing  closer  to  him 
as  though  to  express  her  confidence. 

A  few  hundred  yards  brought  them  to  a  grassy  pad 
dock  fenced  with  limes,  through  which  they  passed  to 
reach  a  grove  of  breadfruit  and  orange  trees  beyond. 
On  the  farther  side  the  house  itself  could  be  seen,  a 
wooden  hut  embowered  in  a  bougainvillea  of  enor 
mous  size.  It  looked  damp,  dark,  and  uninviting. 
Not  a  breath  stirred  the  tree-tops  above  nor  penetrated 
into  the  deep  shade  below ;  except  for  the  drone  of 
bees  and  a  sound  of  falling  water  in  the  distance, 
the  intense  quiet  was  untroubled  by  a  sound.  De 
Charruel  led  the  way  in  silence,  with  the  preoccupa 
tion  of  a  man  who  had  too  often  trod  that  path  before 
to  need  his  wits  to  guide  him.  Reaching  the  hut,  he 
threw  open  the  door  and  stood  back  to  allow  his  com 
panion  to  enter  before  him.  The  little  room  was  bare 
and  clean  •  a  table,  a  book-shelf,  a  couple  of  chairs, 
the  only  furniture ;  the  only  ornaments  a  shining 
lamp  and  a  vase  of  roses.  Miss  Amy  Coulstoun  took 

94 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

a  seat  in  the  long  canvas  chair  which  the  convict  drew 
out  for  her.  The  air  seemed  hot  and  suffocating,  the 
perfume  of  the  orange-blossoms  almost  insupportable. 
She  was  possessed,  besides,  with  a  thought,  a  fancy, 
that  bewildered  her ;  that  made  her  feel  half  ashamed, 
half  triumphant ;  that  brought  the  tears  to  her  eyes  re 
peatedly.  De  Charruel  did  not  speak.  He  was  stand 
ing  in  the  doorway,  looking  down  at  her  with  a  sort 
of  awe,  as  though  at  something  sacred,  something  he 
wished  to  imprint  for  ever  in  his  mind. 

"  I  wish  to  remember  you  as  you  are  now !  "  he  ex 
claimed—"  lying  back  in  my  chair,  your  face  a  little  in 
profile,  your  eyes  sad  and  compassionate.  When  you 
are  gone  I  shall  keep  this  memory  in  my  heart ;  I  shall 
cherish  it ;  it  shall  live  with  me  here  in  my  solitude." 

"  I  must  go,"  she  said,  with  a  little  thrill  of  anger 
or  agitation  in  her  voice.  "I  have  stayed  too  long 
already." 

He  came  towards  her. 

"  I  want  first  to  show  you  this,"  he  said,  drawing 
from  his  pocket  a  jewel-case,  which  he  almost  forced 
into  her  hands.  "  You  will  not  refuse  me  a  last  favour 
—you  who  have  accorded  me  so  many?" 

She  avoided  his  glance,  and  opened  the  box,  giving, 
as  she  did  so,  an  exclamation  of  astonishment. 

It  was  full  of  rings. 

"  They  were  my  poor  mother's,"  he  explained.  "  By 
special  permission  I  was  allowed  to  receive  them  here  j 
I  feared  they  might  go  astray." 

There  were,  perhaps,  ten  rings  in  all,  every  one  the 
choice  of  a  woman  of  refinement  and  great  wealth— 

95 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

diamonds,  rubies,  pearls,  and  opals,  sparkling  and 
burning  in  the  hollow  of  the  girl's  hand.  No  wonder 
she  cried  out  at  the  sight  of  them,  and  turned  them 
over  and  over  and  over  with  fascinated  curiosity. 

"Each  one  has  its  history,"  said  de  Charruel. 
"This  and  this  are  heirlooms.  This  was  a  peace- 
offering  from  my  father  after  a  terrible  quarrel,  the 
particulars  of  which  I  never  learned.  This  he  gave  her 
after  my  birth— are  the  diamonds  not  superb?  This 
ruby  was  my  mother's  favourite,  for  it  was  her  engage 
ment  ring,  and  endeared  to  her  by  innumerable  recol 
lections.  She  used  to  tell  me  that  at  her  death  she 
wished  my  wife  to  wear  it  always,  saying  it  was  so 
charged  with  love  that  she  counted  it  a  talisman." 

Miss  Coulstoun  held  it  up  to  the  light,  turning  it 
from  side  to  side. 

"  It  is  like  a  pool  of  fire,"  she  said. 

"  Won't  you  try  it  on  ? "  he  asked. 

She  did  so,  and  held  out  her  hand  for  him  to  see. 
The  ring  might  have  been  made  to  the  measure  of  her 
finger. 

"  You  will  never  take  it  off  again,"  he  said.  "You 
will  keep  it  for  a  souvenir — for  a  remembrance." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  Indeed,  I  will  not,"  she  re 
turned,  with  a  smile.  "  Besides,  is  it  not  to  be  pre 
served  for  your  fiancee  ?  You  cannot  disregard  your 
mother's  wish." 

"  Why  should  we  pretend  to  one  another  ?  "  he  broke 
out.  "  You  know  why  I  offer  it  to  you,  mademoiselle. 
It  would  be  an  insult  for  me  to  say  I  love  you— I,  a 
convict,  a  man  disgraced  and  ruined  past  redemption. 

96 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

But  I  can  ask  you  to  keep  my  poor  ring.  Wear  it  as 
you  might  that  of  some  one  dead,  some  one  of  whom 
you  once  thought  with  kindness,  some  one  who  had 
greatly  suffered." 

The  girl  looked  away. 

"What  you  ask  is  impossible,"  she  said  at  length, 
in  a  voice  so  low  and  sweet  that  it  was  like  a  caress. 
"I  don't  think  you  understand." 

"  It  is  your  pride  that  prevents !  "  he  cried.  "  I 
understand  very  well.  If  I  left  it  you  in  a  testament 
you  would  not  scruple  to  take  it  j  you  would  see  a  dif 
ference  !  Yet,  am  I  not  dead  ?  Is  this  not  my  grave 
you  see  around  me  ?  Am  I  not  the  corpse  of  the  man 
I  once  was  ?  Trample  on  your  pride  for  once,  for  the 
sake  of  one  that  loves  the  very  ground  you  tread  upon. 
Take  my  ring,  although  it  is  worth  much  money,  al 
though  the  convenances  forbid.  If  questions  are  asked, 
say  that  it  belonged  to  a  man  long  ago  passed  away, 
whose  last  wish  it  was  that  you  should  wear  it." 

"  I  shall  say  it  was  given  me  by  the  bravest  and 
most  eloquent  of  men,  the  Comte  de  Charruel ! "  she 
exclaimed,  with  a  deep  blush.  "  You  have  convinced 
me  against  my  will." 

He  cried  out  in  protest,  but  even  as  he  did  so  he 
heard  the  sounds  of  footsteps  on  the  porch,  and  turned 
in  time  to  see  the  door  flung  open  by  Fitzroy.  Behind 
the  Irishman  strode  the  tall  figure  of  General  Couls- 
toun,  his  face  overcast  with  anxiety. 

"  Thank  God  !  "  he  cried  when  he  saw  his  daughter. 
"  You  've  been  gone  an  age,  my  dear,  and  I  Ve  been 
uneasy  in  spite  of  Fitzroy,  here.  It 's  very  well  to  say 

97 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

1  It 's  all  right,  it 's  all  right '  j  but  in  an  island  full  of 
con— " 

"I  felt  quite  safe  under  M.  de  Charruel's  protec 
tion,"  interrupted  Amy,  striking  that  dreadful  word 
full  in  the  middle.  "  I  thought  you  knew  I  was  with 
this  gentleman." 

"I  don't  know  that  that  made  me  feel  any  more — " 
began  the  general,  recollecting  himself  in  the  nick  of 
time.  "  Why,  Amy,  child,  what  are  you  doing  with 
that  ring  ? " 

"  M.  de  Charruel  has  just  presented  it  to  me,  papa/' 
she  returned.  "  Is  it  not  beautiful  1 " 

"  Good  God !  "  cried  the  general,  "  it  is  a  ruby  !  I 
could  swear  it  is  a  ruby !  It  must  be  worth  a  for 
tune  ! "  Between  each  of  these  remarks  he  stared 
de  Charruel  in  the  face  with  mingled  suspicion,  anger, 
and  surprise. 

"  I  am  told  that  it  is  worth  about  twelve  thousand 
francs,"  said  the  Frenchman. 

The  general  started.  Fitzroy  hurriedly  whispered 
something  into  his  ear.  "  You  don't  say  so !  "  the 
former  was  overheard  to  say.  "In  a  duel,  was  it? 
I  did  n't  know  anybody  was  ever  killed  in  a  French 
— Oh,  I  see — yes — lost  his  head — 

This  little  aside  finished,  the  general  came  back 
again  to  the  attack,  more  civil,  however,  and  more 
conciliatory  in  his  tone. 

"  You  must  be  aware,"  he  said,  addressing  de  Char 
ruel,  "that  no  young  lady  can  accept  such  a  present 
us  this  from  any  one  save  a  member  of  her  family  or 
the  man  to  whom  she  is  engaged.  I  can  only  think 


98 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

that  my  daughter  has  taken  your  ring  in  ignorance 
of  its  real  value,  forgetful  for  the  moment  that  the 
conventionalities  are  the  same  whether  in  New  Cale 
donia  or  New  York.  You  will  pardon  me,  therefore, 
if  I  feel  constrained  to  ask  you  to  take  back  your 
gift." 

"  It  rests  entirely  with  Miss  Coulstoun,"  returned 
de  Charruel. 

"  In  that  case,  there  can  certainly  be  no  question," 
said  the  general. 

"  I  shall  not  give  it  back,  papa,"  said  Amy. 

Her  father  stared  at  her  in  amazement,  and  from 
her  distrustfully  to  de  Charruel. 

"Is  he  not  a— convict?"  he  asked. 

"Yes." 

"And  you  are  going  to  accept  a  present  from  a 
convict  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"A  present  said  to  be  worth  twelve  thousand 
francs  ? " 

"Yes." 

"  My  God ! "  he  cried,  "I  could  not  have  believed  it 
possible." 

At  this  she  burst  out  crying. 

The  general  put  his  arm  round  her.  "  Come  away, 
my  daughter,"  he  said.  "  For  once  in  my  life  I  am 
ashamed  of  you." 

"I  must  first  say  good-bye  to  M.  de  Charruel," 
she  said  through  her  tears,  holding  out  her  hand— the 
left  hand,  on  which  the  ruby  glowed  like  a  drop  of 
blood. 

99 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

The  convict  raised  it  slowly  to  his  lips.     Their  eyes 
met  for  the  last  time. 
"  Good-bye,"  he  said. 

The  next  day,  from  a  rocky  cliff  above  his  house, 
de  Charruel  saw  the  yacht  hoist  her  white  sails  and  steal 
out  to  sea.  He  watched  her  as  long  as  she  remained 
in  sight,  and  when  at  last  she  sank  over  the  horizon, 
he  threw  himself  on  the  ground  in  a  paroxysm  of  de 
spair.  For  an  hour  he  lay  in  a  sort  of  stupor,  rising 
only  at  the  insistent  whistle  from  the  mine.  This  told 
him  that  it  was  twelve  o'clock,  and  brought  him  back 
to  the  realities  and  obligations  of  life.  Descending  to 
the  farm,  he  once  more  took  up  the  threads  of  his  ex 
istence,  for  the  habits  of  twelve  years  are  not  to  be 
lightly  disregarded.  But  it  was  with  difficulty  that 
he  brought  himself  to  perform  his  usual  tasks.  His 
heart  seemed  dead  within  his  breast.  He  wondered 
miserably  at  his  former  patience  and  industry  as  he 
saw  on  every  side  the  exemplification  of  both.  How 
could  he  ever  have  found  contentment  in  such  drudg 
ery,  in  such  pitiful  digging  and  toiling  in  the  dirt ! 
What  a  way  for  a  man  to  pass  his  days— an  earth- 
stained  peasant,  ignobly  sweating  among  his  cabbages  ! 
Oh,  the  intolerable  loneliness  of  those  years !  How 
grim  they  seemed  as  he  looked  back  at  them,  those 
tragic,  wasted  years ! 

Tortured  by  the  stillness  and  emptiness  of  his  hut, 
he  spent  the  night  at  Fitzroy's,  lying  on  the  bare 
verandah  boards  till  daylight.  But  he  returned  home 
before  the  household  was  astir,  lest  he  should  be 

IOO 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 


invited  to  breakfast  and  be  expected  to  talk.  He 
shrank  from  the  thought  of  meeting  any  one,  and 
for  days  afterwards  kept  close  within  the  limits  of  his 
little  farm,  shunning  every  human  being  near  him. 
Every  convict  has  such  phases,  such  mutinies  of  the 
soul.  The  malady  runs  its  course  like  a  fever,  and  if 
it  does  not  kill  or  impair  the  victim's  reason,  it  leaves 
him  at  last  too  often  a  hopeless  sot.  But,  fortu 
nately  for  himself,  it  was  work,  not  cognac,  that  cured 
Paul  de  Charruel.  He  came  to  himself  one  day  in  his 
garden,  as  he  was  digging  potatoes.  He  stood  up, 
drew  his  hand  across  his  face,  and  realised  that  the 
brain-sickness  had  left  him.  He  went  into  the  house 
and  looked  at  himself  in  the  glass,  shuddering  at  the 
scarecrow  he  saw  reflected  there.  He  examined  his 
clothes,  his  rooms,  his  calloused  hands,  with  a  strange, 
new  curiosity,  studying  them  all  with  the  same  spec 
ulation,  the  same  surprise.  He  stood  off,  as  it  were, 
and  looked  at  himself  from  a  distance.  He  walked 
about  his  tangled,  weedy  farm,  and  wondered  what 
had  come  over  him  these  past  weeks.  He  had  been 
starving,  he  said  to  himself  many  times  over— starving 
for  companionship. 

He  sought  out  Fitzroy  at  the  mine.  It  was  good 
again  to  hear  the  Irishman's  honest  laugh,  to  clasp 
his  honest  hand,  to  think  there  was  one  person,  at 
least,  that  cared  for  him.  He  hung  about  Fitzroy 
all  that  day,  as  though  it  would  be  death  to  lose  sight 
of  him— Fitzroy,  his  friend.  He  repeated  that  last 
word  a  dozen  times.  His  friend !  He  talked  wildly 
and  extravagantly  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  hearing 

101 


. 
;  ;    ;    The  Dust  of  Defeat 

himself  speak.  He  was  convulsed  with  laughter 
when  an  accident  happened  to  a  truck,  and  could 
scarcely  contain  himself  when  Fitzroy  had  a  mock 
altercation  with  the  engineer.  No  one  could  be  more 
humourous  than  Fitzroy,  and  the  engineer  was  a 
man  of  admirable  wit !  What  a  fool  he  had  been  to 
sulk  these  weeks  on  his  farm.  His  farm !  It  made 
him  tremble  to  think  of  it,  so  unen durably  lonely  and 
silent  it  had  become.  It  was  horrible  that  he  must 
return  to  it,— his  green  prison,— with  its  ghosts  and 
memories. 

He  went  back  late,  but  not  to  sleep.  He  sat  on  the 
dark  porch  of  his  hut  and  thought  of  the  woman  he 
had  lost.  Like  a  shadow  she  seemed  to  pass  beside 
him,  and  if  he  shut  his  eyes  he  could  feel  her  breath 
against  his  cheek  and  almost  hear  the  beating  of  her 
heart.  He  closed  his  arms  on  the  empty  air  and  called 
her  name  aloud,  half  hoping  that  she  might  come 
to  him.  But  she  was  a  thousand  miles  at  sea,  and 
every  minute  was  widening  the  distance  between  them. 
The  folly  and  uselessness  of  these  repinings  suddenly 
came  over  him.  She  was  a  most  charming  girl,  but 
would  not  any  charming  girl  have  captivated  him 
after  the  life  he  had  been  leading  f  Was  he  not  hun 
gry  for  affection  ?  Was  he  not  in  love  with  love  ? 
He  rose  and  walked  up  and  down  the  porch,  greatly 
stirred  by  the  new  current  of  his  thoughts.  Yes ;  he 
was  dying  for  something  to  love — something,  were  it 
only  a  dog.  For  twelve  years  he  had  sufficed  for 
himself,  but  he  could  do  so  no  more. 

By  dawn  he  was  at  Fitzroy 's,  begging  the  Irishman 

IO2 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

for  a  black  boy  and  a  horse.  A  little  later  his  mes 
senger  was  galloping  along  the  Noumea  road,  charged 
with  a  letter  to  the  Chef  de  V Administration  Peniten- 
tiaire  to  request  that  "le  nomine  de  Charruel"  be 
permitted  to  leave  his  farm  for  seven  days.  The 
permission  was  accorded  almost  as  a  matter  of  form, 
for  it  was  not  the  custom  to  refuse  anything  to  "le 
nomine  de  Charruel." 

The  count  went  straight  to  the  convent  and  asked 
to  see  the  Mother  Superior.  She  was  a  stately  old 
lady,  with  silvery  hair,  an  aristocratic  profile,  and  a 
voice  like  an  ancient  bell.  She  at  once  cut  short  his 
explanations,  closing  her  ears  to  his  official  number 
and  other  particulars  of  his  convict  life. 

"M.  le  Comte,"  she  said,  "I  knew  your  mother 
very  well,  and  your  father  also,  whom  you  favour 
not  a  little.  I  have  often  thought  of  you  out  there 
by  the  strait— ah,  monsieur,  believe  me,  often." 

De  Charruel  thanked  her  with  ceremony. 

"  Your  errand  cannot  be  the  same  as  that  which 
brings  the  others,"  she  went  on,  half  smiling.  "  Mon 
Dieu  I "  she  exclaimed,  as  she  saw  the  truth  in  his  red 
dening  face.  "  You,  a  noble  !  a  chef  defamille  !  It  is 
impossible." 

"  I  am  only  the  convict  de  Charruel/'  he  answered. 

The  old  woman  looked  at  him  with  keen  displea 
sure. 

"  You  know  the  rules  1 "  she  said  in  an  altered  voice. 
"  You  know,  I  suppose,  that  you  can  take  your  choice 
of  three.  If  you  are  not  satisfied  you  can  return  in 
six  months." 

103 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

"  Oh,  madame,"  he  said,  "  spare  me  such  a  trial.  I 
stipulate  for  two  things  only :  give  me  not  a  poisoner 
nor  a  thief;  but  give  me,  if  you  can,  some  poor  girl 
whose  very  honesty  and  innocence  has  been  her 
ruin." 

"  I  can  very  easily  supply  you  with  such  a  one,"  said 
the  Mother  Superior.  "  Your  words  apply  to  half  the 
female  criminals  the  government  sends  me  to  marry 
to  the  convicts.  When  I  weigh  their  relative  demerits 
I  almost  feel  I  am  giving  angels  to  devils,  so  heavy 
is  the  scale  in  favour  of  my  sex.  I  have  several  young 
women  of  unusual  gentleness  and  refinement,  who 
could  satisfy  requirements  the  most  exacting.  If  you 
like,"  she  went  on,  "  I  shall  introduce  you  first  to  a 
poor  girl  named  Suzanne.  In  the  beginning  it  was 
like  caging  a  bird  to  keep  her  here,  but  insensibly  she 
has  given  her  heart  to  God  and  has  ceased  to  beat  her 
wings  against  the  bars." 

"  Does  she  fulfil  my  conditions  ? "  asked  the  count. 

"  Yes ;  a  thousand  times,  yes  ! "  exclaimed  the  Mother 
Superior.  "Shall  I  give  orders  for  her  to  be 
brought?" 

"  If  you  would  have  the  kindness,"  said  de  Charruel. 

There  was  a  long  waiting  after  the  command  had 
gone  forth.  All  the  womanliness  and  latent  coquetry 
of  the  nuns  came  out  in  this  business  of  making  ready 
their  charges  for  the  ordeal;  and  when  it  was  whis 
pered  that  the  wooer  was  the  Comte  de  Charruel  him 
self,  a  personage  with  whose  romantic  history  there 
was  not  a  soul  unfamiliar,  great  indeed  was  the  excite 
ment  and  preparation.  At  last,  with  a  modest  knock, 

104 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

the  door  opened  and  let  in  a  young  girl  clothed  in 
conventual  grey.  She  had  a  very  pretty  face,  a  touch 
hardened  by  past  misfortunes,  a  figure  short,  well 
knit,  and  not  ungraceful,  and  wild  black  eyes  that 
shrank  to  the  ground  at  the  sight  of  the  count. 

The  Mother  Superior  motioned  her  to  take  a  seat. 

"  This  is  Suzanne,"  she  said. 

De  Charruel  rose  to  his  feet  and  bowed. 

There  was  a  dead  silence. 

"  Can  you  not  say  something  ? "  said  the  old  lady, 
turning  to  the  count  with  some  asperity. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  he  said,  with  a  sensation  of  ex 
treme  embarrassment,  "  I  have  the  honour  to  ask  you 
to  marry  me." 

"  You  need  not  commit  yourself,"  interrupted  the 
Mother  Superior.  "  You  can  have  the  choice  of  two 
more." 

"  If  I  saw  a  hundred,  madame,"  he  replied,  "  I  could 
find  no  one  I  preferred  to  this  young  lady." 

There  was  another  prolonged  silence. 

"  You  must  answer,  Suzanne,"  said  the  old  lady. 
"  Yes  or  no  ? " 

The  girl  burst  into  tears. 

"  Yes  or  no  ? "  reiterated  the  Mother. 

"I  weep  at  monsieur's  extraordinary  goodness," 
said  the  girl.  "  Yes,  madame,  yes." 

Ten  days  later  de  Charruel  was  resting  in  the  taro- 
field  where  he  had  been  at  work,  when  he  felt 
Suzanne's  arm  around  his  neck  and  her  warm  lips 
against  his  forehead.  He  leaned  back  with  a  smile. 


The  Dust  of  Defeat 

"  Paul,"  she  said,  with  a  little  tremor  in  her  voice, 
"  you  have  hidden  nothing  from  me  ?  You  have  done 
nothing  wrong,  Paul  ? " 

"  Wrong  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Have  I  not  told  thee 
repeatedly  that  I  am  the  model  convict,  the  hero  of  a 
hundred  official  commendations,  the  shining  star  of 
the  penal  administration  ?  Wrong !  What  dost  thou 
mean  ? " 

"  The  authorities—"  she  answered.  "  There  has 
been  a  messenger  from  the  mine  with  a  blue  official 
letter.  Oh,  Paul,  it  frightens  me." 

"  Thou  needst  not  fear,"  he  said.  "  It  is  only  some 
matter  of  routine.  I  could  paper  my  house  (if  it  would 
not  be  misunderstood)  with  blue  official  letters  about 
nothing." 

"I  am  so  happy,  Paul,"  she  said,— "so  happy  that 
I  tremble  for  my  happiness  !  " 

He  smiled  at  her  again  as  he  reached  his  hand  for 
the  letter.  Nonchalantly  he  tore  it  open,  but  turned 
deadly  pale  as  he  ran  his  eyes  down  the  sheet  inside. 

"  You  must  go  back  to  prison  ? "  she  cried  in  a  voice 
of  agony. 

He  could  only  shake  his  head. 

"  Speak  !  "  she  cried  again.  "  Paul,  Paul,  I  must 
know,  if  it  kills  me  !  " 

He  gave  her  a  dreadful  look. 

"  I  am  pardoned,"  he  said.     "  I  am  free ! " 


106 


THE   HAPPIEST   DAY   OF   HIS   LIFE 


THE   HAPPIEST   DAY   OF   HIS   LIFE 

HIS  thirtieth  birthday !  His  first  youth,  was  behind 
him,  with  all  its  heartburnings,  its  failures, 
its  manifold  humiliations.  What  had  he  done  these 
years  past  but  drift,  forlorn,  penniless,  and  unattached, 
over  those  shallows  where  others  had  stuck  and  pros 
pered—a  gentle  decline  all  the  way  from  college  in 
hope  and  fulfilment?  The  army  and  civil  service 
had  alike  refused  him.  In  the  colonies  he  had  toiled 
unremittingly  in  half  a  hundred  characters,— groom, 
cook,  boundary  rider,  steamer  roustabout,— always 
sinking,  always  failing.  Then  those  last  four  years 
in  the  Islands,  and  his  tumble-down  store  in  Vaiala ! 
Had  life  nothing  more  for  him  than  an  endless  suc 
cession  of  hot,  empty  days  on  the  farthest  beach  of 
Upolu,  with  scarcely  more  to  eat  than  the  commonest 
Kanaka,  and  no  other  outlet  for  his  energies  than  the 
bartering  of  salt  beef  for  coprah  and  an  occasional 
night's  fishing  on  the  reef?  On  the  other  hand,  he 
was  well  in  body,  and  had  times  of  even  thinking  him 
self  happy  in  this  fag-end  of  the  world.  The  old  store, 
rotten  and  leaky  though  it  was,  gave  him  a  dryer  bed 
than  he  had  often  found  in  his  wandering  life,  and  the 
food,  if  monotonous  and  poor,  was  better  than  the 
empty  belly  with  which  he  had  often  begun  an  ardu 
ous  day  in  Australia.  And  the  place  was  extraordi- 

109 


The  Happiest  Day  of  his  Life 

narily  beautiful.  Yes,  he  had  always  admitted  that, 
even  in  his  blackest  days  of  depression,  though  the 
beauty  of  it  seemed  almost  to  oppress  him  at  times. 
But  beautiful  or  not,  this  was  a  strange  place  for  his 
father's  son,  a  strange  thirtieth  birthday  for  one  who 
had  begun  the  world  with  every  prospect  of  faring 
well  and  rising  high  in  its  esteem,  and  the  sense  of  his 
failure  again  seized  him  by  the  throat. 

The  noise  of  an  incoming  boat  drew  him  to  the  door, 
and  he  looked  out  to  see  the  pastor's  old  whaler  head 
ing  through  the  reef.  They  had  made  a  night  trip  to 
avoid  the  heat,  and  all  looked  tired  and  weary  with 
their  long  pull  from  Apia,  and  the  song  with  which 
they  timed  their  paddles  sounded  mournfully  across 
the  lagoon.  A  half -grown  girl  leaped  into  the  water 
and  hastened  up  to  the  store  with  something  fastened 
in  a  banana-leaf. 

It  was  a  letter,  which  she  shyly  handed  the  trader. 
Walter  Kinross  looked  at  it  with  surprise,  for  it  was 
the  first  he  had  received  in  four  years,  and  the  sight 
of  its  English  stamp  and  familiar  handwriting  filled 
him  with  something  like  awe. 

"The  white  man  said  you  would  give  us  a  tin  of 
salmon  and  six  masi"  said  the  little  girl,  in  native. 

Kinross  unlocked  the  dingy  trade-room,  still  in  a 
maze  of  wonder  and  impatience,  and  gave  the  little 
girl  a  box  of  matches  in  excess  of  postage.  Then  he 
opened  the  letter. 

MY  DEAR  NEPHEW  [it  ran] :  Your  letter  asking  me  to  send 
you  a  book  or  two  or  any  old  papers  I  might  happen  to 
have  about  me  has  just  come  to  hand,  and  finds  me  at  Long's 

I  I  O 


The  Happiest  Day  of  his  Life 

Hotel,  pretty  miserable  and  ill.  Yours  was  a  strange  note, 
after  a  silence  of  eight  years,  telling  me  nothing  on  earth 
about  yourself  save  that  you  are  trading  in  some  islands, 
and  seldom  see  a  white  face  from  one  year's  end  to  another. 
When  a  man  is  seventy  years  of  age  and  is  ill,  and  his  nigh- 
spent  life  unrolls  before  him  like  the  pages  of  a  musty  old 
book,  and  when  he  wonders  a  little  how  it  will  feel  to  be 
dead  and  done  with  altogether,  I  tell  you,  my  boy,  he  begins 
to  see  the  spectres  of  all  sorts  of  old  misdeeds  rising  before 
him.  Past  unkindnesses,  past  neglects,  a  cold  word  here,  a 
ten-pound  note  saved  there  and  an  old  friend  turned  empty 
away— well,  well!  Without  actually  going  the  length  of 
saying  that  I  was  either  unkind  or  negligent  hi  your  case,  I 
feel  sometimes  I  was  rather  hard  on  you  as  to  that  mess  of 
yours  in  London,  and  that  affair  at  Lowestoft  the  same 
year.  I  was  disappointed,  and  I  showed  it. 

I  know  you  're  pretty  old  to  come  back  and  start  life  afresh 
here,  but  if  you  have  not  had  the  unmitigated  folly  to  get 
married  out  there  and  tied  by  the  leg  for  ever,  I  '11  help  you 
to  make  a  new  start.  You  sha'n't  starve  if  three  hundred 
pounds  a  year  will  keep  you,  and  if  you  will  try  and  turn 
over  a  new  leaf  and  make  a  man  of  yourself  in  good  earnest, 
I  am  prepared  to  mark  you  down  substantially  in  my  will. 
But  mind— no  promises— payment  strictly  by  results. 
You  're  no  longer  a  boy,  and  this  is  probably  the  last  chance 
you  '11  ever  get  of  entering  civilised  life  again  and  meeting 
respectable  folk.  I  inclose  you  a  draft  at  sight  on  Sydney, 
New  South  Wales,  for  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  for 
you  will  doubtless  need  clothes,  etc.,  as  well  as  your  passage 
money,  and  if  you  decide  not  to  return  you  can  accept  it  as 
a  present  from  your  old  uncle.  I  have  told  Jones  (you 
\vould  scarcely  know  the  old  fellow,  Walter,  he  's  so 
changed)  to  send  you  a  bundle  of  books  and  illustrated 
papers,  which  I  hope  will  amuse  you  more  than  they  seem 
to  do  me.  Affectionately  yours, 

ALFRED  BANNOCK. 

Ill 


The  Happiest  Day  of  his  Life 

The  trader  read  the  letter  with  extraordinary  at 
tention,  though  the  drift  of  it  was  at  first  almost 
beyond  him— read  it  and  re-read  it,  dazed  and  over 
come,  scarcely  realising  his  good  fortune.  He  spread 
out  the  bill  on  his  knee  arid  smoothed  it  as  he  might 
have  patted  the  head  of  a  dog.  It  spelled  freedom, 
friends,  the  life  he  had  been  trained  and  fitted  to  lead, 
a  future  worth  having  and  worth  dividing.  The 
elation  of  it  all  tingled  in  his  veins,  and  he  felt  like 
singing.  London,  the  far  distant,  the  inaccessible, 
now  hummed  in  his  ears.  He  saw  the  eddying, 
crowded  streets,  the  emptying  play-houses,  the  grey 
river  sparkling  with  lights.  The  smoke  of  a  native 
oven  thrilled  him  with  memories  of  the  underground, 
and  he  had  but  to  close  his  eyes  and  the  surf  thun 
dered  with  the  noise  of  arriving  trains. 

The  house  could  not  contain  him  and  his  eager 
thoughts;  he  must  needs  feel  the  sky  overhead  and 
the  trades  against  his  cheek,  and  take  all  nature  into 
his  puny  confidence.  Besides,  Vaiala  had  now  a  new 
charm  for  him,  one  he  had  never  counted  on  to  find. 
Soon,  now,  it  would  begin  to  melt  into  the  irrevocable 
past;  its  mist-swept  mountains,  its  forests  and  roar 
ing  waterfalls  would  fade  into  nothingness  and  become 
no  more  than  an  impalpable  phantom  of  his  mind,  the 
stuff  that  dreams  are  made  of.  He  wandered  along 
the  path  from  one  settlement  to  another,  round  the 
great  half -moon  of  the  bay,  absorbing  every  impres 
sion  with  a  new  and  tender  interest. 

There  were  a  dozen  little  villages  to  be  passed  be 
fore  he  could  attain  the  rocky  promontory  that  barred 

112 


The  Happiest  Day  of  his  Life 

the  western  shore,  pretty  hamlets  in  groves  of  cocoa- 
nuts  and  breadfruit,  in  each  perhaps  a  dozen  beehive 
houses  and  as  many  sheds  and  boat-shelters.  Be 
tween  village  and  village  the  path  led  him  under  rus 
tling  palms  and  beside  the  shallow  waters  of  the 
lagoon  and  across  a  river  where  he  surprised  some 
laughing  girls  at  their  bath.  In  the  deep  shade  old 
men  were  mending  nets,  and  children  were  playing 
tag  and  cricket  with  boisterous  shouts,  or  marbles  in 
sandy  places.  From  one  house  he  heard  the  clapping 
hands  that  announced  the  'ava  ;  in  another  the  song 
and  stamp  of  practising  dancers.  Hard  and  lonely 
though  his  life  had  been,  this  Samoan  bay  was  en 
deared  to  him  by  a  thousand  pleasant  memories  and 
even  by  the  recollection  of  his  past  unhappiness. 
Here  he  had  found  peace  and  love,  freedom  from 
taskmasters,  scenes  more  beautiful  than  any  picture, 
and,  not  least,  a  sufficiency  to  eat.  A  little  money 
and  his  life  might  have  been  tolerable,  even  happy — 
enough  money  for  a  good-sized  boat,  a  cow  or  two, 
and  those  six  acres  of  the  Pascoe  estate  he  had  so 
often  longed  to  buy.  Only  the  month  before,  the 
American  consul  had  offered  them  for  two  hundred 
dollars  Chile  money,  and  here  he  was  with  two  hun 
dred  and  fifty  pounds  in  his  pocket,  seventeen  hun 
dred  and  fifty  dollars  currency  !  Cruel  fate,  that  had 
made  him  in  one  turn  of  her  wrist  far  too  rich  to  care. 
He  would  buy  them  for  Leata,  he  supposed  •  he  must 
leave  the  girl  some  land  to  live  on.  But  where  now 
were  all  the  day-dreams  of  the  laying  out  of  his  little 
estate?— the  damming  of  the  noisy  stream,  the  fen- 


The  Happiest  Day  of  his  Life 

cing,  terracing,  and  path-making  he  had  had  in  mind  j 
the  mangoes,  oranges,  and  avocados  he  had  meant  to 
plant  in  that  teeming  soil,  with  coffee  enough  for  a 
modest  reserve  ?  What  a  snug,  cosy  garden  a  man 
could  make  of  it !  What  a  satisfaction  it  might  have 
been  !  How  often  had  he  talked  of  it  with  Leata,  who 
had  been  no  less  eager  than  himself  to  harness  their 
quarter-acre  to  the  six  and  make  of  them  all  a  little 
paradise. 

Poor  Leata !  whom  he  had  taken  so  lightly  from 
her  father's  house  and  paid  for  in  gunpowder  and 
kegs  of  beef —his  smiling,  soft-eyed  Leata,  who  would 
have  died  for  him !  What  was  to  become  of  her  in 
this  new  arrangement  of  things  ?  The  six  acres  would 
provide  for  her,  of  course;  in  breadfruit,  cocoanuts, 
and  bananas  she  would  not  be  badly  off :  but  where 
was  the  solace  for  the  ache  in  her  heart,  for  her  deso 
lation  and  abandonment?  He  sighed  as  he  thought 
of  her,  the  truest  friend  he  had  found  in  all  his  wan 
derings.  He  would  get  her  some  jewellery  from  Apia, 
and  a  chest  of  new  dresses,  and  a  big  musical  box,  if 
she  fancied  it.  What  would  it  matter  if  he  did  go 
home  in  the  steerage  ?  It  would  be  no  hardship  to  a 
man  like  him.  She  would  soon  forget  him,  no  doubt, 
and  take  up  with  somebody  else,  and  live  happily  ever 
afterwards  in  the  six  acres.  Ah,  well !  he  must  n't 
think  too  much  about  her,  or  it  would  take  the  edge  off 
his  high  spirits  and  spoil  the  happiest  day  of  his  life. 

By  this  time  he  had  worked  quite  round  the  bay,  and 
almost  without  knowing  it  he  found  himself  in  front 
of  Paul  Eugelbert's  store.  Engelbert  was  the  other 

114 


The  Happiest  Day  of  his  Life 

trader  in  Vaiala— a  passionate,  middle-aged  Prussian, 
who  had  been  a  good  friend  of  his  before  those  seven 
breadfruit-trees  had  come  between  them.  In  his  new 
found  affluence  and  consequent  good  humour  the  bit 
terness  of  that  old  feud  suddenly  passed  away.  He 
recalled  Engelbert's  rough,  jovial  kindness— remem 
bered  how  Paul  had  cared  for  him  through  the  fever, 
and  helped  him  afterwards  with  money  and  trade. 
How  could  he  have  been  so  petty  as  to  make  a  quarrel 
of  those  breadfruit-trees?  He  recollected,  with  in 
describable  wonder  at  himself,  that  he  had  once  drawn 
a  pistol  on  the  old  fellow,  and  all  this  over  six  feet  of 
boundary  and  seven  gnawed  breadfruits  !  By  Jove ! 
he  could  afford  to  be  generous  and  hold  out  the  right 
hand  of  friendship.  Poor  old  Paul !  it  was  a  shame 
they  had  not  spoken  these  two  years. 

On  the  verandah,  barefoot  and  in  striped  pyjamas, 
was  Engelbert,  pretending  not  to  see  him.  Kinross 
thought  he  looked  old  and  sick  and  not  a  little 
changed. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Engelbert  ?  "  he  said. 

The  German  looked  at  him  with  smouldering  eyes. 
"  Gan't  you  see  I  'm  busy  ? "  he  said. 

"You  might  offer  a  man  a  chair,"  said  Kinross, 
seating  himself  on  the  tool-chest. 

"  Dere  iss  no  jare  for  dem  dat  iss  n't  welgome,"  said 
the  German. 

"  I  used  to  be  welcome  here,"  said  Kinross.  "  There 
was  a  time  when  you  were  a  precious  good  friend  of 
mine,  Paul  Engelbert." 

"  Dat  wass  long  ago,"  said  the  trader. 

"5 


The  Happiest  Day  of  his  Life 

"I  7ve  been  thinking,"  said  Kinross,  "that  I  Ve 
acted  like  a  damned  fool  about  those  trees." 

"  Dat  wass  what  I  wass  dinking,  too,  dese  two  dree 
years,"  responded  the  other. 

"  Take  them  j  they  are  yours,"  said  Kinross.  "  You 
can  build  your  fence  there  to-morrow." 

"  So  !  "  said  Engelbert,  with  dawning  intelligence. 
"The  Yerman  gonsul  has  at  last  to  my  gomplaint 
listened." 

"  Hang  the  German  consul !  No  !  "  cried  Kinross. 
"I  do  it  myself,  because  I  was  wrong— because  you 
were  good  to  me  that  time  I  was  sick,  and  lent  me  the 
hundred  dollars  and  the  trade." 

"And  you  want  noding?"  asked  Engelbert,  still 
incredulous. 

"  I  want  to  shake  your  hand  and  be  friends  again, 
old  man,"  said  Kinross,  "  same  as  we  used  to  be  when 
we  played  dominoes  every  night,  and  you  M  tell  me 
about  the  Austrian  War,  and  how  the  Prince  divided 
his  cigars  with  you  when  you  were  wounded." 

The  German  looked  away.  "  Oh,  Kinross,"  he  said, 
with  a  shining  look  in  his  eyes,  "  you  make  me  much 
ashamed."  He  turned  suddenly  round  and  wrung 
the  Englishman's  hand  in  an  iron  grasp.  "  I,  too,  was 
dam  fool." 

"A  friend  is  worth  more  than  seven  breadfruits," 
said  Kinross. 

"  It  wass  not  breadfruid :  it  wass  brincible,"  said  the 
German.  "  Poof !  de  drees  dey  are  noding ;  here  it 
wass  I  wass  hurted,"  and  he  laid  a  heavy  paw  against 
his  breast.  "  Ho,  Malia,  de  beer ! " 

116 


The  Happiest  Day  of  his  Life 

His  strapping  native  wife  appeared  with  bottles  and 
mugs;  at  the  sight  of  their  guest  she  could  scarcely 
conceal  her  surprise. 

"  Prosit !  "  said  Engelbert,  touching  glasses. 

"  You  know  dem  six  agers  of  de  Pasgoe  estate,"  he 
said,  looking  very  hard  at  his  companion.  "Very 
nice  leetle  place,  very  sheap,  yoost  behind  your  store  ?  " 

Kinross  nodded,  but  his  face  fell  in  spite  of  himself. 

"  I  from  the  American  gonsul  bought  him,"  went 
on  the  German,  "very  sheap:  two  hundred  dollars 
Chile  money." 

Kinross  looked  black.  Engelbert  patted  his  hand 
and  smiled  ambiguously. 

"Dey  are  yours,"  he  said.  "Pay  me  back  when 
you  have  de  money.  I  buy  dem  only  to  spite  you. 
My  friend,  take  dem." 

"  Paul,  Paul,"  cried  Kinross,  "  I  don't  know  what 
to  say — how  to  thank  you.  Only  this  morning  I  got 
money  from  home,  and  the  first  thing  I  meant  to  do 
was  to  buy  them." 

"  All  de  better,"  said  Engelbert ;  "  and,  my  boy,  you 
blant  goifee.  Cobrah,  poof !  Gotton,  poof !  It 's  de 
goffee  dat  bays,  and  I  will  get  you  blenty  leetle  drees 
from  my  friend,  de  gaptain  in  Utumabu  Blantation. 
You  must  go?  So?  Yoost  one  glass  beer.  Nein? 
I  will  be  round  lader." 

Kinross  tore  himself  away  with  difficulty  and  started 
homeward,  his  heart  swelling  with  kindness  for  the 
old  Prussian.  He  exulted  in  the  six  acres  he  had  so 
nearly  lost,  and  they  now  seemed  to  him  more  precious 
than  ever.  It  was  no  empty  promise,  that  of  the 

117 


The  Happiest  Day  of  his  Life 

coffee-trees  from  Utumapu ;  these  would  save  him  all 
manner  of  preparatory  labor  and  put  his  little  planta 
tion  six  months  ahead.  Then  he  remembered  he  was 
leaving  Vaiala,  and  again  he  heard  the  hum  of  Lon 
don  in  his  ears.  Well,  he  would  explain  about  the 
trees  to  Leata,  and  would  beg  old  Engelbert  to  help 
and  advise  her  a  bit.  Poor  Leata !  she  had  lots  of 
good  sense  and  was  very  quick  to  learn.  He  could 
trust  Leata. 

He  was  crossing  the  malae,  or  common,  of  Polapola, 
when  the  sight  of  the  chief's  house  put  a  new 
thought  into  his  head.  It  was  Tangaloa's  house* 
and  he  could  see  the  chief  himself  bulking  dimly  in 
the  shadow  of  a  siapo.  Tangaloa !  He  had  n't 
spoken  with  him  in  a  year.  The  old  fellow  had 
been  good  to  him,  and  in  the  beginning  had  over 
whelmed  him  with  kindnesses.  But  that  was  before 
he  had  shot  the  chiefs  dog  and  brought  about  the 
feud  that  had  existed  between  them  for  so  long.  It 
was  annoying  to  have  that  everlasting  dog  on  his 
verandah  at  night,  frightening  Leata  to  death  and 
spilling  the  improvised  larder  all  about  the  floor, 
not  to  speak  of  the  chickens  it  had  eaten  and  the  eggs 
it  had  sucked.  No,  he  could  not  blame  himself  for 
having  shot  that  beast  of  a  dog !  But  it  had  made 
bad  blood  between  him  and  Tangaloa,  and  had  cost 
him,  in  one  way  or  another,  through  the  loss  of  the 
old  chiefs  custom  and  influence,  the  value  of  a  thou 
sand  chickens.  But  he  would  make  it  up  with  Tan 
galoa,  for  he  meant  to  leave  no  man's  ill  will  behind 
him.  So  he  walked  deliberately  towards  the  house, 

118 


The  Happiest  Day  of  his  Life 

and  slipped  under  the  eaves  near  the  place  where  the 
old  chief  was  sitting  alone. 

"  Talofa,  Tangaloa,"  he  cried  out  cordially,  shaking 
hands. 

The  chief  responded  somewhat  drily  to  the  saluta 
tion  and  assumed  a  vacant  expression. 

"  That  dog  !  "  began  the  trader. 

"  That  dog ! "  repeated  the  chief,  with  counterfeit 
surprise. 

"  Thy  dog,  the  one  I  shot  near  my  house,"  said  Kin 
ross,  firing  up  with  the  memory  of  its  misdeeds,  "  the 
dog  that  chased  my  chickens,  and  ate  my  eggs,  and 
plagued  me  all  night  like  a  forest  devil— I  want  to 
take  counsel  with  your  Highness  about  it." 

"  But  it  is  dead,"  said  Tangaloa. 

"  But  thy  high-chief  anger  is  not  dead,"  said  Kin 
ross.  "  Behold,  I  used  to  be  like  your  son,  and  the 
day  was  no  longer  than  thy  love  for  me.  I  am  over 
come  with  sorrow  to  remember  the  years  that  are 
gone,  and  now  to  live  together  as  we  do  in  enmity. 
What  is  the  value  of  thy  dog,  that  I  may  pay  thee  for 
it,  and  what  present  can  I  make  besides  that  will  turn 
thy  heart  towards  me  again  f  " 

"  Cease,"  said  the  chief ;  "  there  was  no  worth  to  the 
dog,  and  I  have  no  anger  against  thee,  Kinilosi." 

"You  mock  at  me,  Tangaloa,"  said  Kinross. 
"  There  is  anger  in  thine  eyes  even  as  thou  speakest 
to  me." 

"  Great  was  my  love  for  that  dog,"  said  the  chief. 
"It  licked  my  face  when  I  lay  wounded  on  the 
battle-ground.  If  I  whistled  it  came  to  me,  so 


The  Happiest  Day  of  his  Life 

wise  was  it  and  loving ;  and  if  I  were  sick  it  would 
not  eat." 

"  Weighty  is  my  shame  and  pain,"  said  the  trader. 
" Would  that  I  had  never  lifted  my  gun  against  it! 
But  I  will  pay  thee  its  worth  and  make  thee  a  present 
besides." 

"  Impossible/7  said  Tangaloa.  "  When  the  cocoanut 
is  split,  who  can  make  it  whole  ? " 

"  One  can  always  get  a  new  cocoanut/'  said  Kinross. 
"  I  will  buy  thee  the  best  dog  in  Apia,  a  high  chief  of 
a  dog,  clever  like  a  consul,  and  with  a  bark  melodi 
ous  as  a  musical  box." 

At  this  Tangaloa  laughed  for  the  first  time.  "  And 
what  about  thy  chickens?"  he  demanded,  "and  thy 
things  to  eat  hung  out  at  night  ?  " 

"  It  can  eat  all  the  chickens  it  likes,"  returned  Kin 
ross,  "  and  I  will  feed  it  daily,  also,  with  salt  beef  and 
sardines,  if  that  will  make  us  friends  again,  your 
Highness." 

"Cease,  Kinilosi;  I  am  thy  friend  already,"  said 
Tangaloa,  extending  his  hand.  "  It  is  forgotten  about 
the  dog,  and  lo,  the  anger  is  buried." 

"  And  the  price  ?  "  inquired  Kinross. 

"  One  cannot  buy  friendship  or  barter  loving-kind 
ness,"  said  Tangaloa.  "  Again  I  tell  thee  there  is  no 
price.  But  if  thou  wouldst  care  to  give  me  a  bottle 
of  kerosene,  for  the  lack  of  which  I  am  sore  distressed 
these  nights— well,  I  should  be  very  glad." 

"  I  shall  be  pleased  indeed,"  said  the  trader,  who  of 
a  sudden  assumed  an  intent,  listening  attitude. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? "  demanded  Tangaloa. 

I2O 


The  Happiest  Day  of  his  Life 

"  Sh-sh  !  "  exclaimed  the  white  man. 

"  There  is  nothing,"  said  the  chief. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Kinross  j  "  listen,  your  Highness ! 
A  faint,  faint  bark  like  that  of  a  spirit  dog." 

"  Oh,"  said  the  chief,  looking  about  uneasily. 

"Dost  thee  not  hear  it?'7  cried  Kinross,  incredu 
lously.  "  To  me  it  is  clear  like  the  mission  bell,  thus : 
'Bow-wow-wow-give-also-some-sugar-and-some-tea- 
and  -  some  -  tobacco  -  to  -  his  -  Highness  -  Tangaloa  -  bow 
wow-wow  ! ' " 

The  old  chief  fairly  beamed.  "Blessed  was  my 
dog  in  life,  and  blessed  in  death  also ! "  he  cried. 
"Behold,  Kinilosi,  he  also  barks  about  a  few  fish 
hooks  in  a  bag,  and  for  a  small  subscription  to  our 
new  church." 

"  I  think  he  says  fifty  cents,"  said  Kinross. 

"No,  no,"  cried  the  chief;  "it  was  like  this— quite 
plain  :  l  One-dollar-one-dollar ! ? " 

"  That  ends  it,"  said  Kinross.  "  I  must  haste  to  obey 
the  voice  of  the  spirit  dog.  Good-bye,  your  Highness." 

"Good-bye,  Kinilosi,"  returned  the  chief,  warmly. 
"I  laugh  and  talk  jestingly,  but  my  heart—" 

"  Mine  also,"  added  Kinross,  quickly,  again  grasping 
the  old  man's  hand. 

He  strode  off  with  a  light  step,  in  a  glow  of  enthusi 
asm  and  high  spirits.  It  would  be  hard  to  leave  the 
old  village,  after  all.  He  might  travel  far  and  not 
find  hearts  more  generous  or  kindly,  and  he  vowed  he 
would  never  forget  his  Samoans— no,  if  he  lived  a 
thousand  years.  And  if,  after  all,  the  new  order  of 
things  should  fail  to  please,  and  he  should  find  him- 

12  I 


The  Happiest  Day  of  his  Life 

self  stifled  by  the  civilisation  to  which  he  had  been  so 
long  a  stranger,  could  he  not  always  return  to  this 
little  paradise,  and  live  out  the  number  of  his  days  in 
perennial  content?  He  would  search  for  some  sav 
ings-bank  in  London,  and  place  there  to  his  credit  a 
sum  large  enough  to  ship  him  back  to  the  Islands. 
Whatever  the  pinch,  it  should  lie  there  untouched  and 
sacred ;  and  as  he  toiled  in  the  stern,  grey  land  of  his 
birth,  the  thought  of  that  secret  hoard  would  always 
be  a  comfort  to  him. .  But  what  if  the  bank  should 
break,  as  banks  do  in  those  centres  of  the  high  civili 
sation,  and  he  should  find  himself  stranded  half  the 
world  away  from  the  place  he  loved  so  dearly?  He 
shivered  at  the  thought.  There  should  be  two  hoards, 
in  two  banks,  or  else  he  would  feel  continually  un 
easy.  The  line  to  the  rear  must  be  kept  open  at  any 
cost. 

He  found  Leata  sitting  on  the  floor,  spelling  out 
"The  Good  News  from  New  Guinea"  in  the  mission 
ary  magazine.  She  was  fresh  from  her  bath,  and  her 
black,  damp  hair  was  outspread  to  the  sunshine  to 
dry.  She  rippled  with  smiles  at  his  approach,  and  it 
seemed  to  him  she  had  never  looked  more  radiant  and 
engaging.  He  sat  down  beside  her,  and  pressed  her 
curly  hair  against  his  lips  and  kissed  it.  How  was  it 
that  such  a  little  savage  could  appear  to  him  more 
alluring  than  any  white  woman  he  had  ever  seen? 
Was  he  bewitched  ?  He  looked  at  her  critically,  dis 
passionately,  and  marvelled  at  the  perfection  of  her 
wild  young  beauty,  marvelled,  too,  at  her  elegance 
and  delicacy.  And  for  heart  and  tenderness,  where 

122 


The  Happiest  Day  of  his  Life 

was  her  match  in  all  the  seas?  He  threw  his  arm 
round  her  and  kissed  her  on  the  lips. 

"  Of  all  things  in  the  world  what  wouldst  thou  like 
the  most,  Leata  ? "  he  asked. 

"  To  have  thee  always  near  me,  Kinilosi,"  she  an 
swered.  "  Before,  I  had  no  understanding  and  was 
like  the  black  people  in  the  missionary  book,  but  now 
my  heart  is  pained,  so  full  it  is  with  love." 

"  But  there  are  other  things  than  love,"  persisted 
Kinross.  "  Ear-rings,  musical  boxes,  print  for 
dresses." 

"  Yes,  many  things,"  she  said.  "  But  I  trouble  not 
myself  about  them,  Kinilosi.  But  sometimes  I  think 
of  the  land  behind  our  house  and  the  fine  plantation 
we  will  make  there  some  day." 

"  But  if  I  gave  you  a  little  bag  of  gold  shillings," 
he  said,  "  and  took  thee  to  Apia,  my  pigeon,  what 
wouldst  thou  buy  ?  " 

"  First  I  would  give  ten  dollars  to  the  new  church," 
she  began.  "  Then  for  my  father  I  would  buy  an 
umbrella,  and  a  shiny  bag  in  which  he  could  carry 
his  cartridges  and  tobacco  when  he  goes  to  war.  For 
my  mother,  also,  an  umbrella  and  a  picture-book  like 
that  of  the  missionary's,  with  photographs  of  Queen 
Victoria  and  captains  of  men-of-war.  For  my  sister 
a  Bible  and  a  hymn-book,  and  for  my  brother  a  little 
pigeon  gun." 

"  O  thou  foolish  Leata,"  said  Kinross,  "  and  nothing 
for  thy  self?" 

"There  is  still  more  in  my  bag,"  she  answered, 
"enough  for  a  golden  locket  and  a  golden  chain. 

123 


The  Happiest  Day  of  his  Life 

And  in  the  locket  there  will  be  your  picture  and  a 
lock  of  your  hair — like  the  one  the  naval  officer  gave 
Titi's  sister  •  and  when  I  die,  lo,  no  one  shall  touch  it, 
for  it  shall  lie  on  my  breast  in  the  grave  !  " 

"  To-morrow  we  shall  go  to  Apia  and  buy  them/' 
said  Kinross.  "  This  morning  the  pastor  brought  me 
a  letter  from  Britain  with  a  present  of  many  dollars. 
The  six  acres  I  have  already  purchased,  and  in  Apia 
I  shall  get  prickly  wire  for  fencing,  and  many  things 
we  need  for  the  clearing  and  planting  of  the  land." 

Leata  clapped  her  hands  for  joy.  "  Oh,  Kinilosi," 
she  cried,  "  it  was  breaking  my  heart.  I  feared  the 
letter  would  make  thee  return  to  the  White  Country !  " 

Kinross  looked  at  her  with  great  gentleness.  His 
resolution  was  taken,  be  it  for  good  or  evil. 

"  I  shall  never  go  back,"  he  said. 

Then  in  a  rousing  voice  he  cried,  so  loudly  that 
the  natives  in  the  neighbouring  houses  started  at  the 
sound :  "  In  Vaiala  shall  I  live,  and  in  Vaiala  die !  " 


124 


FATHER   ZOSIMUS 


FATHER   ZOSIMUS 

MANY  years  ago,  before  the  steamers  came  to  Sa 
moa,  when  the  whites  depended  on  sailing-ships 
for  their  precarious  supplies  and  their  meagre  news 
of  the  outside  world,  the  Rev.  Wesley  Cook  reached 
the  Islands  to  take  up  the  Lord's  work  in  that  troubled 
field.  He  was  a  good-looking  young  man  with  a 
weak  chin,  rather  regular  features,  and  an  abundance 
of  yellow,  fluffy  hair,  who  had  trod  since  earliest  in 
fancy  the  narrow  path  that  leads  to  a  missionary 
career.  An  assiduous  church-member,  a  devout  Sun 
day-school  scholar,  he  had  climbed,  rung  by  rung,  the 
religious  ladder,  and  his  sanguine,  sensitive  nature 
had  flowered  in  an  atmosphere  which  would  have 
stifled  a  bolder  boy.  At  nineteen  he  was  fed  into  a 
sectarian  college  like  corn  into  a  mill,  and  at  twenty- 
two  the  machine  turned  him  out  into  the  world,  an 
uudistinguishable  unit  of  the  church  to  which  he 
belonged.  Then,  after  a  quiet  month  with  his  old 
mother,  whose  heart  overflowed  with  the  measure 
of  her  son's  success,  the  Rev.  Wesley  was  bidden  to 
marry  and  depart. 

There  were  plenty  to  advise  him  at  this  juncture, 
and  half  a  dozen  young  ladies  were  entered,  so  to 
speak,  for  the  matrimonial  steeplechase.  But  Wes 
ley,  contrary  to  all  expectation  and  not  a  little  to  the 

127 


Father  Zosimus 

chagrin  of  the  narrow  set  in  which  he  moved,  showed 
some  determination  to  have  his  own  way  in  this  im 
portant  matter,  and  after  a  brief  courtship  he  carried 
Miss  Minnie  Chandler  to  the  altar.  She  was  the 
proud  and  defiant  beauty  of  the  town,  the  self-willed, 
high-spirited  young  woman  whose  name  was  in  every 
mouth,  and  whose  rejected  suitors  numbered  half  the 
bachelors  in  the  neighbourhood.  Many  wondered  at 
her  choice,  until  it  was  whispered  about  that  she  was 
heartsick  over  her  affair  with  Harry  Jardine,  the 
manufacturer's  son,  and  that  she  preferred  the  mis 
sionary  wilds  to  life  in  the  same  country  with  the 
man  who  had  broken  his  troth.  Be  that  as  it  may, 
she  was  joined  to  Wesley  Cook  in  the  bonds  of  holy 
matrimony,  and  after  a  quiet  wedding,  at  which  the 
breakfast  was  frugal  and  prayer  abundant,  the  young 
couple  bade  farewell  to  their  relations  and  departed 
for  the  uttermost  isles  of  the  sea. 

Six  months  later  the  Morning  Star  hove  to  off  the 
iron-bound  coast  of  Savai'i,  and  her  surf -boats  landed 
the  Rev.  Wesley  on  the  shores  of  his  new  home, 
together  with  a  ton  of  provisions,  some  cheap  furni 
ture,  a  box  of  theological  books,  and  a  Samoan  gram 
mar.  He  found  a  concrete  house  already  prepared 
for  him,  a  church  with  sand-bagged  windows  and  a 
plank  door  still  studded  with  bullets, — an  alarming 
reminder  of  the  unsettled  state  of  his  district,— and 
an  obsequious  band  of  church  elders,  sticky  with  oil, 
and,  to  his  notion  of  things,  almost  naked  in  their  kilts 
of  paper  cloth.  Bewildered  and  unhappy,  with  his 
wife  in  tears  beside  him,  he  gazed  despairingly  at  the 

128 


Father  Zosimus 

fast-dwindling  ship,  which,  he  could  not  hope  to  see 
again  for  the  space  of  a  year. 

The  natives  hung  about  like  flies,  buzzing  through 
the  stuffy  rooms  of  the  old  mission-house  so  long 
closed  to  their  little  world,  or  bestirred  themselves 
with  noisy  good  will  to  the  task  of  bringing  up  the 
freight  and  the  pastor's  scanty  boxes.  He,  poor  fel 
low,  with  haggard  face  and  eyes  smarting  with  sweat, 
checked  off  the  tally  on  an  envelope,  and  strove  to 
bear  himself  like  the  picture  of  the  martyr  Williams 
in  "  The  Heroes  of  the  Cross."  Numberless  old  men 
shook  him  by  the  hand,  and  talked  to  him  loudly  as 
though  he  were  deaf,  or  drew  him  off  to  a  distance 
and,  leaning  on  long  sticks,  barked  orations  at  his 
head.  Bands  of  youths  staggered  in,  singing,  with 
loads  of  squealing  pigs,  and  unsavoury  victuals  in 
baskets,  while  shaven-headed  children  tied  chickens 
to  the  verandah-posts,  and  women  and  girls  unfolded 
offerings  of  prawns  and  snaky  eels.  There  was  a  live 
turtle  in  the  sitting-room,  a  bull-calf  in  the  kitchen, 
and  at  every  turn  veritable  mountains  of  half-roasted 
pork.  It  was  a  wild  scene  for  a  man  new  come  from 
quiet  England,  and  the  long,  even  days  of  life  at  sea ; 
the  unceasing  press  and  bustle  of  the  multitude,  the 
squawking  of  chickens,  and  the  screams  of  fettered 
pigs,  all  wore  on  his  nerves  until  his  head  was  gidd}*- 
and  his  pulse  throbbing.  It  was  late  in  the  afternoon 
before  the  mob  scampered  off  with  the  suddenness 
and  decision  of  a  flock  of  birds,  leaving  the  mission 
ary  and  his  wife  to  the  peace  they  so  sorely  needed. 
The  poor  exiles,  with  sinking  hearts,  brewed  their  tea 

I  29 


Father  Zosimus 

beside  a  packing-case,  and  wondered  (much  in  the 
spirit  of  convicts  who  have  left  another  world  beyond 
the  prison  door)  whether  the  captain  had  won  his 
philopena  of  Mrs.  McDougall,  or  if  Miss  Mossby  had 
made  it  up  with  young  Sturgis. 

A  year  later  the  new  missionary  found  himself 
somewhat  at  home  in  Fangaloa.  He  had  preached  a 
halting  sermon  in  the  native  tongue,  which,  though 
no  one  could  understand  it,  had  evoked  a  respectful 
admiration.  The  school  was  now  on  its  feet,  and  the 
children  came  eagerly,  seemingly  pleased  with  the  rudi 
ments  of  learning  he  managed  to  teach  them.  His 
parishioners,  too,  began  to  give  evidence  of  their  finer 
and  nobler  qualities,  and  warmed  his  heart  by  their 
kindness,  generosity,  and  intelligence.  Their  laborious 
talks,  as  they  sat  at  night  round  the  fires,  or  on  mats 
beneath  the  tropic  moon,  revealed  to  him  a  tenderness 
and  refinement  he  was  little  prepared  to  find;  and, 
from  a  task,  these  gatherings  became  an  entertainment 
to  be  prepared  for  by  anxious  study  of  the  phrase-book, 
and  bewildering  consultations  with  an  old  man  who 
was  supposed  to  understand  English.  Cook  liked  the 
admiration  and  deference  of  these  ragged  chiefs  j  he 
loved  to  note  the  bustle  that  heralded  his  own  ap 
proach;  the  shaking  out  of  the  finest  mats  for  his 
special  seat;  the  polite  chorus  of  " Maliu  maij  susu 
mai  Tutumanaia"  ("You  are  high  chief  come,  Cook 
the  Handsome  ") ;  the  closing  up  of  the  ranks,  and  the 
row  of  expectant  faces.  He  was  the  little  god  of 
Fangaloa  Bay,  and  in  a  hesitating,  humble  way  he 
began  to  taste  the  sweets  of  power  and  authority. 

I  30 


Father  Zosimus 

But  with  his  wife  it  was  very  different.  Her  beauti 
ful  face  grew  pale  and  sharp,  as  the  days  rolled  on  in 
a  blank  succession  of  household  tasks  begun  and 
ended.  In  the  long  night  hours,  when  the  heat  made 
sleep  impossible,  and  her  heart  turned  to  England  and 
those  dear  ones  she  could  not  hope  to  see  again  for 
years,  she  would  abandon  herself  to  despair.  She 
never  complained,  but  went  about  her  duties  with 
sad-eyed  patience,  mixing  very  little  with  the  many 
servants  provided  for  her— the  young  men  who  studied 
for  the  ministry  in  the  intervals  of  bread-making  and 
waiting  at  table,  and  the  girls  of  rank  whose  fathers 
were  eager  for  them  to  keep  pace  with  the  strange 
new  times  they  lived  in.  She  never  chid  them,  as 
most  missionaries'  wives  would  have  done,  for  trifling 
faults  or  petty  forgetfulnesses.  She  never  realised 
the  enormity  of  breaking  a  plate,  or  the  crime  of  tint 
ing  the  pudding  with  washing-blue  to  enrich  the 
colour;  she  allowed  things  to  take  their  untroubled 
course  in  a  way  that  amazed  her  household.  When 
one's  heart  is  slowly  breaking,  it  is  hard  to  count  the 
sugar  in  the  bowl  or  watch  the  soap  with  house 
wifely  care.  In  the  hot  afternoons  she  would  take  her 
work  and  seek  the  shadow  of  a  tall  cocoanut-grove 
which  stood  on  a  hill  behind  the  town,  and  there  re 
main  for  hours,  gazing  out  at  the  vast  shining  bosom 
of  the  ocean,  or  at  the  blue  mountains  of  Upolu,  far 
across  the  strait.  So  regular  was  her  visit  to  this  lit 
tle  grove  that  her  boys  built  a  bench  of  tamanu  wood 
for  her  to  sit  on,  and  raised  a  roof  overhead  to  pro 
tect  her  from  passing  showers  or  the  glancing  rays  of 

13* 


Father  Zosimus 

the  sun;  and  the  place  was  called  uo  le  NofoalVi  o 
Misi  Mini,"  or  the  Throne  of  Mrs.  Minnie,  which 
name  it  bears  to  the  present  day,  though  all  the  actors 
in  this  story  have  long  been  laid  beneath  the  sod. 
Once,  after  a  solitary  vigil  of  more  than  usual  length, 
she  returned  and  sought  her  room,  now  a  little  sanctu 
ary  of  her  irrevocable  life;  for  here  were  gathered 
the  treasures  of  her  past;  the  photographs,  memen 
toes,  and  keepsakes  that  she  had  clung  to  in  her  exile. 
Here  she  breathed  again  the  air  of  home ;  here  she 
could  caress  the  fading  photographs  that  were  so  dear 
to  her,  and  indulge  unstinted  in  passionate  rebellion 
against  her  fate.  On  the  day  of  which  we  write  she 
found  no  comfort  in  her  shrine.  The  faces  of  her 
friends  looked  down  mournfully  at  her  from  the  walls, 
tormenting  her  with  a  thousand  recollections.  Exis 
tence  was  unbearable  enough  without  such  added  bit 
terness.  These  things,  inanimate  though  they  were, 
devoured  her  while  they  pretended  to  comfort ;  they 
broke  her  heart  while  she  looked  to  them  for  solace. 
For  a  moment  she  saw  the  truth  and  trembled  for 
herself.  Madness  lay  on  the  road  she  had  begun  to 
follow. 

One  by  one,  she  gathered  them  together;  the  pic 
ture  of  her  father  and  mother,  the  photographs  of 
her  relations  and  girl  friends,  old  Christmas  cards, 
bits  of  ribbon,  little  odds  and  ends  that  had  played 
each  a  part  in  those  bygone  days.  There  were  let 
ters,  too,  precious  bundles  of  letters  tied  with  ribbon, 
which  she  kissed  and  cried  over  before  consigning  to 
destruction;  and  from  one  such  packet  dropped  the 

132 


Father  Zosimus 

likeness  of  a  man  in  uniform,  which  she  pressed  to 
her  breast  before  tearing  it  into  a  hundred  pieces. 
When  at  last  the  room  was  stripped  of  everything, 
she  bore  the  heap  of  tender  rubbish  to  the  fire,  and, 
with  a  stony  face,  fed  it  to  the  flames. 

The  Rev.  Wesley  Cook  and  his  wife  were  not  the 
only  whites  in  their  corner  of  Savai'i,  as  indeed  they 
had  first  imagined  themselves  to  be.  There  was  still 
another  in  Fangaloa,  an  old,  white-haired  Irish  priest 
called  Father  Zosimus.  No  one  could  remember 
how  many  years  had  passed  since  Father  Zosimus 
came  to  Fangaloa  and  built  the  tiny  house  and 
chapel  in  the  mango-grove;  for  he  was  an  old,  old 
man,  and  had  come  to  that  sleepy  hollow  when  his 
hair  was  as  black  and  his  feet  were  as  light  as  those 
of  the  nimblest  warrior  of  the  bay.  He  had  no  fol 
lowers  to  speak  of,  for  Fangaloa  was  Protestant  to 
the  core,  and  his  congregation  numbered  no  more 
than  one  family  of  eight,  three  transient  young  men 
who  had  run  away  with  as  many  girls  from  Upolu, 
and  Filipo,  the  aged  catechist,  who  acted  as  his  ser 
vant.  But  Father  Zosimus  never  faltered  in  the  path 
he  had  set  himself  to  follow.  For  seven  and  forty 
years  he  had  daily  broken  the  stillness  of  the  grove 
with  the  tinkle  of  his  little  bell,  and  never  failed  to 
carry  on  the  service  of  his  church.  He  scarcely 
heeded  the  new  arrivals,  and  more  than  once  he  had 
had  to  chide  old  Filipo  for  gossiping  about  the  jyajxt- 
langi  on  the  hill.  He  never  gave  them  a  second  thought, 
in  fact,  until  one  day  he  happened  to  see  Tutumanaia 
passing  on  his  way  to  church.  The  sight  of  that  fresh, 

"33 


Father  Zosimus 

clear-eyed  youngster  greatly  moved  the  old  priest. 
He  was  troubled  and  uneasy  as  he  walked  home,  and 
his  heart  ached  a  little.  The  new  missionary  belonged 
to  his  own  race  j  he  had  the  air  of  a  scholar,  and  the 
frank,  open  face  and  quick  eyes  of  a  man  full  of  en 
thusiasms  and  generous  impulses;  yet,  so  mused 
Zosimus  on  his  homeward  way,  this  charity,  this  noble 
purpose,  were  all  for  the  aborigines  alone.  There 
would  be  none  to  spare  for  an  old  man  to  whom  no 
music  was  so  sweet  as  his  mother- tongue,  and  whose 
loneliness  was  intensified  by  the  burden  of  advancing 
years.  For  nearly  half  a  century  Father  Zosimus 
had  lived  in  exile,  and  his  soul  continually  thirsted 
for  the  companionship  which  had  been  denied  him  all 
his  life.  The  few  whites  who  had  come  his  way  before 
had  been  scrubby  traders,  a  priest  or  two  a  year,  or 
some  nondescript  beach-comber,  rough  and  foul- 
mouthed,  begging  brandy  and  food.  True,  he  had 
spent  eighteen  years  within  a  furlong  of  the  Rev. 
Josiah  Fison,  Cook's  predecessor  in  Fangaloa;  but 
that  gentleman's  Christian  charity  stopped  short  at 
what  he  called  a  "rank  Jesuit,"  and  they  had  never 
exchanged  even  so  much  as  a  word.  In  Father 
Zosimus  there  was  a  strain  of  Irish  gaiety  j  he  loved 
talk,  and  laughter,  and  argument ;  and  the  humblest 
white  man  who  could  speak  English  was  welcomed 
to  his  table  and  treated  to  the  best  that  Fangaloa 
afforded.  Indeed,  among  the  "  squires  of  Savai'i"  he 
was  honoured  and  respected,  from  Falealupo  to  the 
strait.  But  these  men  were,  most  of  them,  gross  and 
common.  In  Wesley  Cook  he  saw  a  being  of  another 

134 


Father  Zosimus 

world,  a  young  man  of  refinement  and  spirituality,  a 
fellow-missionary,  a  fellow-countryman,  with  whom 
all  intercourse  was  inexorably  barred,  with  whom  he 
should  live  out  the  balance  of  his  days  and  know  no 
more  than  if  an  ocean  rolled  between  them.  No 
longer  did  he  stem  the  tide  of  old  Filipo's  gossip ;  on 
the  contrary,  he  could  now  never  learn  enough  of  the 
new  arrivals,  and  little  passed  in  the  mission-house 
that  was  not  reported  to  him  at  once.  He  learned, 
with  a  singular  feeling  of  delight,  of  the  young  min 
ister's  kindness  and  ability  j  how  he  had  mastered  the 
language  in  less  time  than  a  foreigner  had  been  ever 
before  known  to  take ;  how  he  had  raised  the  dying, 
nay,  the  breathless  dead  themselves,  back  to  life  with 
the  costly  medicines  he  never  stinted  to  the  poorest. 
"Oh,  he  is  a  minister  wise  and  good,"  said  Filipo, 
"  and  his  heart  is  not  stony  against  us  Catholics  like 
the  last  pig-face ;  only  yesterday  he  said  that  thou, 
Zosimus,  wert  honourable,  and  deserving  of  respect  as 
a  man  who  had  trod  the  narrow  road  his  whole  life 
long." 

The  old  priest  hung  upon  his  words  as  though 
Filipo  were  inspired.  The  next  day  he  went  pur 
posely  out  of  his  way  to  gain  another  look  at  Tutu- 
manaia,  and  came  back  more  affected  than  he  had 
been  before. 

"  Had  I  not  entered  the  priesthood,  I  might  have  had 
a  son  like  that,"  he  mused  to  himself,  as  he  trudged 
homeward.  "  But  that  I  gave  to  God,  scarce  knowing 
the  sacrifice."  Then  he  rebuked  himself  for  his 
impiety. 


Father  Zosimus 

More  than  once,  as  time  passed,  he  turned  over  in 
his  mind  the  possibility  of  calling  at  the  Protestant 
mission.  But  no  young  girl  could  have  shown  more 
timidity  than  Father  Zosimus.  Many  a  time  he  brought 
out  his  best  cassock,  and  brushed  his  best  hat,  and 
took  a  longlookat  himself  in  the  cracked  shaving-glass. 
But  he  would  sigh  as  he  saw  the  image  of  that  wrinkled, 
shaggy-haired  old  man.  "You  're  nothing  but  a 
frowsy  old  frump,  Zosimus,"  he  would  say  to  him 
self,  "  nothing  but  the  husk  of  what  was  once  a  man. 
Sure,  they  would  have  little  use  for  you,  that  hand 
some  boy  and  girl  in  their  elegant  home."  For  to 
Father  Zosimus  the  whitewashed,  coral-built  mission- 
house,  with  its  shining  windows  and  its  trim  garden 
laid  out  in  plots,  was  a  fairy  palace  resplendent  with 
luxury  and  filled  with  a  thousand  treasures.  In  his 
simple  heart,  half  prepared  as  it  was  to  believe  any 
thing  that  redounded  to  the  honour  of  his  hero,  he 
had  received  with  all  confidence  the  glowing  tales 
the  natives  brought  him;  and  the  very  glamour 
with  which  his  imagination  endowed  the  spot  helped 
to  keep  him  back.  "  If  the  boy  cares  to  know  me,  he 
will  come  himself,"  he  said ;  and  the  camphor- wood 
chest  would  close,  perhaps  for  the  twentieth  time,  on 
the  father's  Sunday  best. 

But  the  boy  never  came.  He,  too,  was  timid,  and 
though  he  often  noticed  the  gaunt  old  priest,  and 
longed  also  to  speak  his  mother-tongue  with  the  only 
creature  save  his  wife  who  could  understand  it  in  all 
Fangaloa,  the  opportunity  never  came  to  break  the 
ice.  A  whole  year  passed,  and  the  Rev.  Wesley  Cook 

136 


Father  Zosimus 

and  the  Rev.  Father  Zosimus,  S.  J.,  were  no  nearer 
an  acquaintance  than  before.  Yet  there  was  seldom 
a  day  but  they  saw  each  other  from  afar,  the  one 
shy  and  kind,  half  hoping  to  receive  the  first  ad 
vances,  the  other  no  less  eager  and  no  less  restrained. 

One  day  Filipo  brought  a  rumour  to  his  master 
which  the  latter  listened  to  with  deep  concern.  For 
a  whole  afternoon  he  gave  up  his  usual  digging  in 
the  garden  and  paced  his  little  verandah  to  and  fro. 
Once  he  even  washed  and  dressed  himself  in  his  best, 
and  trimmed  his  ragged  beard ;  but  he  took  off  his 
clothes  again  and  smoked  another  pipe  instead  of 
paying  the  visit  he  had  so  nearly  decided  to  make. 
He  called  in  Filipo  from  the  taro-field,  and  bade  him 
waylay  Misi's  girls  every  day  and  bring  news  of  Mrs. 
Cook's  condition. 

Day  by  day  the  two  old  men  discussed  the  coming 
event,  and  Father  Zosimus  grew  by  turns  glad  and 
fearful  at  the  prospect.  The  news  came  to  him  one 
morning  in  October,  as  he  was  kneeling  to  implore 
divine  aid  in  the  hour  of  a  woman's  agony.  Dawn 
was  breaking  as  Filipo  rushed  into  the  chapel,  cough 
ing  and  panting.  "It  is  all  over,"  he  cried,— " the 
mother  well  and  happy,  and  the  child  a  little  chief,  of 
a  strength  and  beauty  the  like  of  which  has  never 
been  seen  in  Fangaloa." 

"  God  be  thanked  !  "  cried  Father  Zosimus,  throwing 
himself  once  more  on  his  knees. 

With  the  later  hours  there  came  less  assuring  news 
of  the  mother  and  the  little  chief.  There  was  a  devil 
in  Misi,  said  Filipo ;  a  devil  that  caused  her  to  lie  as 


Father  Zosimus 

dead,  or  to  burst  forth  furiously  into  strange  tongues, 
so  that  all  about  her  stood  amazed  and  trembling. 
The  little  chief  lay  helpless  in  old  Sisimaile's  arms, 
and  the  flame  of  its  tiny  life  was  that  of  a  flickering 
torch.  Yes,  the  papatisonga  had  not  been  neglected. 
Old  Tuisunga  and  Leotele,  the  speaking-man,  were  the 
godfathers  at  the  font ;  and  Tutumanaia  read  fast, 
with  tears  in  his  voice,  lest  the  babe  should  die  before 
it  had  been  joined  to  the  Tahitian  religion.  For 
Master  Wesley  Chandler  Cook  was  not  destined  long 
to  be  a  member  of  Christ's  church  on  earth.  As  they 
bore  him  back  to  the  room  where  his  mother  lay,  he 
closed  his  eyes  for  ever. 

Father  Zosimus  was  stunned  when  the  news  first 
reached  him,  and  the  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks  as 
he  listened  to  Filipo.  Then  he  went  indoors  and 
rummaged  the  old  chests  where  he  kept  his  treasures, 
turning  out  some  trashy  velvet  with  which  he  had 
meant  to  decorate  the  chapel,  a  bottle  of  varnish, 
some  brass  nails,  and  a  bundle  of  well-seasoned,  well- 
polished  maalava  boards  that  he  had  laid  away  to 
build  himself  a  desk.  He  spread  them  out  on  the 
rough  table,  and  studied  them  long  and  earnestly. 
In  his  youth  he  had  been  a  joiner  and  a  worker  in 
wood,  and  though  his  hand  was  palsied  with  age,  and 
his  eye  not  so  true  as  it  once  had  been,  he  was  still 
more  than  a  fair  craftsman.  He  brought  out  his  tools, 
clamps,  and  measures,  and  asked  Filipo  what  he  judged 
to  be  the  bigness  of  the  chief-son  of  Tutumanaia. 

"Not  very  long/'  said  the  old  retainer,— "scarcely 
more  than  the  half  of  your  Highness's  arm." 

138 


Father  Zosimus 

Father  Zosimus  put  on  his  spectacles,  measured  off 
the  velvet,  scanned  his  materials  and  tools  with  a 
workmanlike  eye,  and  then,  when  all  lay  ready  to  his 
hand,  he  went  outside  and  began  to  pace  up  and  down 
his  verandah.  The  devil  of  irresolution  and  doubt  was 
again  gnawing  at  his  heart.  Unsought  and  unasked, 
what  business  was  it  of  his  to  make  a  coffin  for  the 
dead  child?  There  was  not  a  soul  in  Fangaloa  but 
knew  that  Father  Zosimus  was  skilled  in  such  mat 
ters,  as  his  house  and  chapel  so  abundantly  testified. 
Were  his  help  required,  they  would  come  and  seek  it. 
Would  it  not  look  strange  for  him  to  make  a  coffin 
unbidden?  Would  it  not  appear  forward,  grasping, 
perhaps  as  though  he  expected  payment  for  his  work  ? 
For  an  hour  he  wrestled  with  the  problem.  Finally 
he  told  Filipo  to  spread  the  news  about  the  village 
that  the  old  priest  looked  to  undertake  this  task  for 
nothing,  and  was  waiting  only  to  be  asked.  With 
that  he  shut  himself  up  in  the  chapel,  and  spent  the 
forenoon  in  reciting  prayers  for  the  dead.  But,  de 
vout  though  he  ordinarily  was  in  everything  touch 
ing  the  services  of  his  church,  Father  Zosimus  found 
it  hard,  on  this  occasion,  to  dwell  on  things  heavenly 
when  all  the  while  his  body  was  quivering  with  sus 
pense,  and  his  soul  hearkened  for  that  footfall  on 
the  coral  floor.  Again  and  again  he  seemed  to  hear 
the  sound  of  voices,  Filipo  answering  with  soft  de 
liberation,  the  minister  agitated  and  saying  with 
mournful  earnestness,  "Tell  the  alVi  patele  I  must 
see  him  instantly."  But  no  message  came;  no  dis 
creet  cough  or  dog-like  scratching  against  the  door 


Father  Zosimus 

warned  him  that  his  attention  was  desired ;  and  the 
stillness  of  the  chapel  remained  untroubled  save 
for  the  murmuring  surf  and  the  coo  of  wild  pigeons 
in  the  forest. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  fierce  heat  of 
day  was  already  melting  into  the  softness  of  night, 
when  the  minister's  little  son  was  borne  to  his  rest. 
Under  the  equator  burial  follows  swiftly  on  the  heels 
of  death,  and  life  no  sooner  leaves  the  body  than  the 
diggers  must  sweat  and  the  hammers  fly.  There  can 
be  no  decorous  pause  to  soften  the  blow  or  strengthen 
the  bereaved  for  that  last  farewell  beside  the  grave. 
Ashamed,  he  knew  not  why,  with  a  desolate  sense 
of  defeat,  Father  Zosimus  was  drawn  to  gaze  on 
the  burial  from  afar,  crouching  on  a  knoll  that 
overlooked  the  spot.  He  watched,  with  an  emotion 
not  to  be  expressed  in  words,  the  affecting  scene 
which  played  itself  out  before  him.  Across  the  strait 
blue  Upolu  sparkled  in  the  setting  sun;  the  foaming 
breakers  outlined  the  coast  like  a  fringe  of  silver,  and 
thrilled  faintly  on  the  ear ;  the  evening  star  quivered 
in  the  blackening  sky,  and  the  constellation  of  the 
Southern  Cross  gleamed  in  the  heavens,  the  bright 
solace  of  many  a  Christian  heart. 

The  coffin  lay  on  a  rough  bier  of  mingled  boughs 
and  flowers,  borne  in  procession  by  eight  solemn 
little  boys  all  of  a  size,  who  were  tricked  out  in  a 
uniform  of  white  cotton.  Behind  them,  very  pale 
and  handsome,  walked  Tutumanaia,  in  duck  clothes 
and  a  pith  helmet.  On  his  one  hand  was  the  smug- 
faced  native  pastor  from  the  next  bay  j  on  the  other, 

140 


Father  Zosimus 

Tuisunga,  the  towering  old  chief,  imperious  of  eye, 
stately  in  manner,  as  befitted  the  occasion  and  the 
man.  Behind  these  again,  and  at  the  head  of  the 
elders  and  speaking-men  with  their  fly-flappers  and 
Bibles,  strode  the  taupou  of  Fangaloa,  in  a  striped 
silk  apana  and  a  skirt  made  of  a  fine  mat.  The  vil 
lage  matrons  made  up  the  middle  of  the  procession, 
with  their  hands  full  of  hibiscus,  frangipani,  stepha- 
notis,  and  moso'oi,  followed  by  groups  of  young 
girls  and  young  men,  decorously  apart,  as  conven 
tion  demands  5  the  former  in  bright  lavalavas  and 
little  shirts  of  flowers  and  leaves,  or  with  their 
brown  bosoms  glistening  through  entwined  laumaile 
and  necklaces  of  scarlet  singano;  the  latter  with 
lime- whitened  heads  and  flaming  awte-blossoms  be 
hind  their  ears.  Throughout  swarmed  the  village 
children,  with  shaven  heads  and  eager  faces,  and  ears 
all  unmindful  of  the  click-click  of  their  warning  pa 
rents,  romping,  quarrelling,  and  chasing  one  another 
through  the  crowd. 

The  pall-bearers  laid  down  their  burden  beside  the 
empty  grave,  and  knelt  on  the  grass  in  a  little 
semicircle.  Tutumanaia  and  his  two  companions 
threw  themselves  on  a  mat  which  a  woman  unrolled 
and  spread  out  for  them.  The  taupou  took  her  posi 
tion  at  the  head  of  the  coffin,  and  raised  her  silken 
parasol,  less  to  shade  her  eyes  than  to  display  a  cher 
ished  possession.  At  a  respectful  distance,  the  chiefs, 
elders,  and  speaking-men  formed  the  first  rank  of  a 
great  circle,  their  deeply  lined  faces  overcast  and  sol 
emn.  The  silence  was  first  broken  by  a  shrill  hymn, 

141 


Father  Zosimus 

and  then  Cook  rose  to  his  feet,  drew  a  Testament 
from  his  pocket,  and  began  to  address  the  village. 
What  he  said  was  commonplace  enough,  and  only  the 
echo  of  what  he  had  said  a  hundred  times  before,  but 
the  stress  of  a  deep  emotion  ennobled  his  ready 
phrases  and  impassioned  the  narrow  vocabulary  of 
Samoan  woe.  It  seemed  to  Father  Zosimus  that  he 
was  listening  to  an  angel,  or  to  one  of  those  in 
spired  beings  on  whom  the  church  is  founded ;  and, 
indeed,  a  painter  would  have  found  a  saint  to  his 
hand  in  the  tall,  shining  white  figure  of  the  young 
minister,  with  his  aureole  of  golden  hair,  his  hand 
uplifted  to  the  sky,  and  his  pale,  rapt  face  raised 
to  God. 

He  faltered  as  he  drew  near  the  close  of  his  address, 
and  when  at  last  he  looked  down  and  pointed  to  the 
little  coffin,  the  stream  of  his  eloquence  suddenly  ran 
dry.  He  tried  to  go  on,  hesitated,  and  covered  his 
face  with  his  hands,  leaving  it  for  the  pastor  to  con 
tinue.  This  the  Rev.  Tavita  Singua  did  without  fur 
ther  loss  of  time.  He  expatiated  on  the  godlike 
virtues  of  Tutumanaia  in  a  strain  that  would  have 
made  an  angel  blush,  and  did  not  spare  the  poor  clay 
that  had  lived  but  to  die.  Another  piercing  hymn 
preceded  the  third  address.  Old  Tuisunga  now 
stepped  forward,  his  battle-scarred  chest  naked  to  the 
heavens,  the  bunching  tapa  round  his  loins  his  only 
garment.  Slowly,  softly,  with  the  tenderest  delibera 
tion,  he  began  to  speak.  He  was  a  born  orator,  and 
knew  the  way  to  men's  hearts,  rugged  old  barbarian 
though  he  was.  His  theme  was  the  bond  that  this 

142 


Father  Zosimus 

little  grave  would  for  ever  be  between  the  missionary 
and  themselves,  and  his  voice  thrilled  as  he  invited 
Wesley  into  the  fellowship  of  the  bereaved,  and  told 
of  the  tragedy  that  underlies  the  life  of  man.  He 
drew  familiar  instances  from  the  village  history ;  here 
a  cherished  boy  destined  for  a  name  renowned  5  there 
a  young  maid  struck  down  in  all  her  bright  promise. 
He  called  to  mind  his  own  son  Rafael,  who  had  fallen 
beside  him  on  the  battle-field,  his  Absalom,  for  whom 
he  would  have  died  a  thousand  deaths.  He  spoke,  he 
said,  as  one  man  of  sorrow  to  another,  one  whose 
heart  lay  beneath  a  fathom  of  Samoan  earth.  He  drew 
to  a  close  by  declaring  that  no  common  hand  should 
touch  the  coffin  of  their  beloved.  He,  the  son  of 
chiefs,  the  father  of  famous  warriors,  would  lay  the 
little  body  to  its  last  repose,  so  that  it  should  say 
when  its  spirit  reached  the  angels,  "  Behold,  I  am  the 
son  of  Tutumanaia,  and  my  servant  Tuisunga  laid  me 
to  rest  in  the  house  of  sandalwood."  He  tenderly 
lifted  the  coffin  in  his  arms,  pressed  his  lips  against 
the  unpainted  boards,  and  lowered  it  into  the  grave. 

An  hour  later,  a  gaunt,  black-robed  figure  made  its 
way  through  the  trampled  grass  and  fell  on  its  knees 
beside  the  grave.  It  was  Father  Zosimus,  bowed  in 
supplication  before  the  throne  of  grace. 

It  was  strange  what  a  simple  matter  at  last  brought 
about  the  acquaintance  of  the  only  two  white  men  in 
Fangaloa.  Each  had  timidly  waited  for  the  other  to 
make  the  first  advances,  and  each  had  gone  his  solitary 


Father  Zosimus 

way,  sick  at  heart,  and  hungering  for  the  companion 
ship  which  would  have  been  so  eagerly  accorded.  It 
befell  that  Cook's  well  went  dry,  and  there  being  no 
other  water  in  the  village  save  the  brackish  fluid  the 
natives  were  content  to  drink,  one  of  the  mission  boys 
suggested  that  they  apply  to  the  old  priest.  So  Tutu- 
manaia  sat  dow^i  and  wrote  a  polite  note,  explaining 
his  predicament,  and  begging  for  a  little  water.  The 
note  was  sent  by  a  messenger  with  a  bucket.  Father 
Zosimus  was  overwhelmed  when  he  opened  and  read 
the  letter;  he  was  dazed  by  the  suddenness  of  his 
own  good  fortune ;  he  bade  Filipo  feed  the  boy  with 
the  best  the  house  afforded,  with  sucking  pig  and 
palusami  unstinted,  while  he  hurriedly  made  ready 
for  the  visit  that  he  was  at  last  to  pay. 

Oh,  that  first  meeting!  It  exceeded  his  wildest 
expectations,  his  most  sanguine  dream !  Wesley 
Cook  was  so  cordial,  so  frankly  anxious  to  be  friends, 
so  overflowing  with  pent-up  confidences,  that  the 
priest  almost  wept  as  he  unbosomed  himself  of  the 
scruples  that  had  kept  him  back.  With  innocent 
craft,  he  left  nothing  undone  to  establish  his  footing, 
and  his  bland  and  beaming  smile  hid  a  thousand 
schemes  for  entangling  Cook  in  a  web  of  obligation. 
Could  he  send  some  roses  to  madam,  his  beautiful 
wife  ?  It  might  distract  her  from  the  thought  of  her 
terrible  loss.  He  had  so  many  roses — to  give  a  few 
would  be  such  a  pleasure,  such  an  honour.  Ah, 
madam  would  be  pleased  with  them,  were  she  fond 
of  flowers.  She,  too,  must  come  and  see  his  garden, 
his  poor  garden,  where  he  grudged  not  the  labour, 

i44 


Father  Zosimus 

as  it  seemed  to  bring  him  close  to  God.  Could  he 
not  provide  her  with  some  special  seeds  sent  him  all 
the  way  from  Ceylon — acclimated  seeds  from  the 
famous  gardens  of  the  lay  brothers  at  Point  de  Galle  ? 
Some  guava  jelly  of  his  own  making  ?  Some  smoked 
pigeons  that  he  ventured  to  say  were  delicious? 
Would  Cook  accept  some  cherries  in  brandy  that  the 
captain  of  the  Wild  Cat  had  presented  to  him  years 
ago — that  headstrong  naval  captain  who  had  come  to 
bombard  Fangaloa,  and  ended  by  giving  prizes  to  the 
school-children  ? 

Father  Zosimus  did  not  overstay  his  welcome.  On 
the  contrary,  he  had  to  tear  himself  away  almost  by 
force,  so  insistent  was  Cook  to  keep  him.  But  he 
knew  how  much  depended  on  that  first  visit;  he 
would  not  jeopardise  the  precious  friendship  by  re 
maining  too  long;  and  he  took  early  leave,  exulting 
like  a  child  in  the  rosy  vistas  that  opened  before  him. 
This  proved  to  be  the  first  of  many  visits,  and  the  be 
ginning  of  an  acquaintance  that  ripened  into  the 
closest  intimacy.  In  the  day  each  had  his  duties  to 
perform,  his  quiet  routine  of  tasks  to  fulfil.  Father 
Zosimus  sawed  stone  for  the  unfinished  church  he 
had  been  ten  years  building  with  the  perseverance 
of  an  ant,  or  dug  in  the  garden  hard  by  the  chapel 
whose  tinkling  bell  called  him  periodically  to  devo 
tions.  Tutumanaia  had  his  school,  his  Young  Men's 
Institute,  his  medical  practice,  and  the  thousand 
and  one  labours  imposed  upon  him  by  his  position 
and  the  multitude  of  his  flock.  One  hour  daily  he 
devoted  to  the  intricacies  of  the  language,  another 

145 


Father  Zosimus 

to  the  translation  of  the  "  Peep  o'  Day"  and  "  Glimpses 
of  the  Holy  Land  "  into  the  Samoan  tongue.  But  at 
night,  when  all  the  village  lay  quiet  on  its  mats,  and 
nothing  broke  the  stillness  save  the  drone  of  the  surf 
and  the  rustle  of  flying-foxes  among  the  trees,  then 
it  was  that  Father  Zosimus  would  seek  the  mission 
verandah  and  the  society  of  the  friend  that  had  be 
come  so  dear  to  him. 

Side  by  side,  with  their  canvas  chairs  touching,  the 
strange  pair  would  talk  far  into  the  night.  The 
world  passed  in  review  before  them,  that  great  world 
of  which  they  both  knew  so  little ;  and  from  their 
village  on  the  shores  of  an  uncharted  sea  they 
weighed  and  examined,  criticised  and  condemned  it. 
Or  perhaps  from  such  lofty  themes  their  talk  would 
drift  into  the  homelier  channel  of  local  gossip,  or 
stray  into  the  labyrinths  of  Samoan  politics.  Or  Ori- 
gen,  Athanasius,  George  of  Cappadocia,  would  be 
drawn  from  their  distant  past  to  point  an  argument 
or  illustrate  a  deep  dissertation  on  the  primitive 
church.  And  from  these,  again,  perhaps  to  Stein- 
berger's  new  poll-tax  and  the  fighting  in  Pango 
Pango. 

On  one  subject  they  never  spoke— the  great  barrier 
reef  of  dogma  that  lay  between  them.  Once  only 
was  it  in  any  way  alluded  to— once  after  a  memorable 
night  when  Wesley  had  opened  his  heart  to  the  old 
priest.  In  saying  farewell  the  latter  had  raised  his 
hands,  and  was  deeply  chagrined  when  his  companion 
leaped  back  with  a  look  of  consternation. 

"  Oh,  my  son,"  said  Zosimus,  "  the  blessing  of  an 

146 


Father  Zosimus 

old  and  not  unworthy  man  cannot  harm  thee.    Do 
we  not  each  serve  God  according  to  our  lights  ? n 

But  if  Father  Zosimus  had  succeeded  in  winning 
the  young  minister's  confidence  and  friendship,  with 
Mrs.  Cook  he  had  not  fared  so  well.  In  the  bottom 
of  his  heart  he  felt  that  the  woman's  ill  will  was  the 
rock  on  which  the  precious  friendship  might  founder, 
and  he  accordingly  left  no  stone  unturned  to  ingra 
tiate  himself  in  her  favour.  But  the  lonely,  wilful, 
moody  woman,  with  her  health  impaired  by  her  re 
cent  confinement,  and  her  spirit  warped  by  disap 
pointment  and  the  consciousness  of  dimming  beauty, 
was  in  no  state  of  mind  to  receive  his  advances. 
Unhappy  herself,  she  was  in  the  tigerish  humour 
when  one  must  rend,  if  one  can,  the  happiness  of 
others.  She  had  nothing  in  common  with  the 
frowsy  old  priest  who  wore  blue  jeans  under  his 
snuffy  cassock  and  smelled  of  garden  mould.  More 
over,  her  pride  was  wounded  by  her  tacit  exclusion 
from  the  nightly  company  on  the  porch.  Her  pres 
ence  brought  constraint  and  what  seemed  to  her 
disordered  nerves  a  scarcely  veiled  resentment. 
Though  she  yawned  in  her  husband's  face  when  they 
were  alone  together,  and  did  nothing  to  seek  his  con 
fidence,  she  detested  his  intimacy  with  the  old  priest, 
and  the  thought  of  it  rankled  perpetually  within  her. 
At  first  she  had  ignored  Father  Zosimus's  very  exist 
ence,  repelling  his  overtures  with  an  indifference 
quite  unaffected,  and  treating  him  with  the  frank 
rudeness  that  springs  from  unconcern.  But  as  time 
passed,  and  every  fibre  of  her  being  revolted  at  the 


Father  Zosimus 

narrowness  and  hopelessness  of  her  imprisoned  life ; 
as  her  spirit  beat  against  the  bars  and  her  heart 
seemed  to  burst  within  her  breast ;  she  began  to  per 
ceive  in  the  priest  the  means  of  striking  at  her  hus 
band.  Not  that  she  did  not  love  Wesley,  after  a 
fashion ;  if  things  had  so  fallen  out,  she  could  have 
felt  the  most  poignant  jealousy ;  but  she  resented  the 
easy,  contented  nature  that  blossomed  in  that  hot 
hole  where  they  lived,  among  those  greasy,  fawning 
savages  with  whom  their  lot  was  so  inexorably  cast. 
His  prattle  about  the  school,  the  progress  of  the 
"  Peep  o'  Day,"  his  zeal  for  unearthing  legends  and 
old  Samoan  songs,  his  whole  innocent  enjoyment  in 
his  daily  tasks  and  duties,  all  fanned  the  flame 
of  her  revolt.  If  he,  too,  had  risen  against  the 
dreary  confinement  of  their  life;  if  he,  too,  had 
faced  each  succeeding  day  with  ineffable  disgust, 
and  had  lain  weary  and  heartsick  in  her  arms  at 
night;  she  would  have  comforted  him,  encouraged 
him,  strengthened  him  for  the  task  he  had  so  rashly 
undertaken.  What  she  could  not.  bear,  what  she 
could  not  forgive  or  condone,  was  his  mild  acceptance 
of  his  fate  j  his  zest  in  the  pitiful  drudgery  of  his 
every-day  existence ;  the  petty  nature  that  could  thus 
expand  in  the  close  air  of  a  prison.  With  a  malig 
nity  that  was  crazed  in  its  intensity,  the  outcome  of 
hysteria  and  the  first  gna wings  of  disease,  she  sought 
to  shatter  the  placidity  which  had  grown  as  intolera 
ble  to  her  as  the  Samoan  sun  at  noon.  In  Father 
Zosimus  she  perceived  the  dagger  with  which  she 
could  stab  her  husband  through  and  through;  and 

148 


Father  Zosimus 

in  the  maturing  of  her  plot  she  enjoyed  the  near 
est  approach  to  happiness  that  had  ever  come  her 
way  in  Fangaloa. 

One  evening,  when  Father  Zosimus  arrived  as 
usual,  he  was  met  011  the  verandah  by  Mrs.  Cook,  and 
informed  that  the  minister  had  been  detained  in  the 
village  by  some  trifling  errand.  He  felt  a  tone  of 
menace  in  her  voice,  and  foreboded  no  good  from  her 
high  colour  and  quivering  lips.  He  would  have  ex 
cused  himself  had  a  lie  come  easily  to  his  lips,  but  he 
was  not  quick  in  such  things,  and  took  the  offered  seat 
with  a  sinking  heart.  He  searched  nervously  here 
and  there  for  some  topic  of  conversation  that  might 
be  interesting  and  yet  free  from  the  slightest  possibil 
ity  of  offence,  his  ear,  meanwhile,  alert  for  the  sound 
of  the  minister's  footsteps.  But  Mrs.  Cook  was  too 
adroit  for  the  old  man,  and,  to  his  inexpressible  cha 
grin,  he  soon  found  himself  stumbling  into  an  argu 
ment,  and  the  target  for  humiliating  and  derisive 
questions.  He  now  thought  only  of  escape,  for  his 
hands  were  trembling,  and  he  felt  his  cheeks  flushing 
with  indignation.  Every  word  he  said  seemed  only 
to  land  him  deeper  in  the  mire.  When,  at  last,  Mrs. 
Cook  began  to  taunt  him  with  a  recent  scandal  in 
Upolu  involving  the  good  name  of  a  nun,  Father 
Zosimus  cried  out  inarticulately,  and  flung  himself 
past  her  into  the  darkness.  Even  as  he  did  so,  Wes 
ley  Cook  came  swinging  up  the  path,  and  instinctively 
stepped  aside  to  allow  the  flying  figure  to  pass.  He 
looked  back  at  it  irresolutely,  and  then  continued  on 
his  way  with  a  premonition  of  evil  to  come.  His 

149 


Father  Zosimus 

wife  received  him  with  vehement  caresses,  clinging 
to  him  in  an  hysterical  frenzy.  Between  her  choking 
sobs  she  overflowed  with  foolish,  disjointed,  and  often 
incoherent  accusations  against  the  old  priest.  "  That 
horrible  old  Jesuit !  "  she  cried ;  "  that  sly,  slinking, 
wicked  creature;  never,  never  must  he  be  permitted 
to  cross  the  threshold  again.'7  Her  cheeks  flamed  as 
she  continued  her  tirade  j  as  she  described  the  shame, 
the  humiliation  she  had  secretly  undergone;  as  she 
affected,  with  passionated  outbursts  of  indignation,  to 
keep  back  things  that  were  too  black  even  for  utter 
ance.  All  the  time  she  searched  Wesley's  eyes  for  an 
answering  fire,  and  could  read  nothing  but  incredulity 
and  dismay.  Then  her  wrath  turned  full  upon  him, 
and  with  a  hundred  quotations  from  his  own  lips  she 
denounced  his  intimacy  with  a  Jesuit,  and  bade  him 
choose  between  the  priest  and  her. 

She  threatened  to  seek  old  Tuisunga's  protection 
were  he  to  persist  in  this  unworthy  friendship,  and 
drew  in  no  uncertain  colours  the  effect  of  the  letter  she 
would  write  to  the  missionary  authorities  at  Malua. 
Wesley  was  frightened  to  the  core,  and  quaked  under 
the  lash  of  her  denunciation.  He  saw  himself  dis 
graced  ;  dismissed  from  the  Society ;  turned  out  into 
the  world,  that  most  forlorn  and  helpless  of  human 
beings,  the  discarded  missionary.  Abjectly  he  begged 
for  mercy,  simulated  an  indignation  against  Father 
Zosimus  he  could  in  no  wise  feel,  and  was  in  due  course 
forgiven  on  promising  to  break  for  ever  with  the  old 
priest. 

He  passed  a  troubled  night ;  he  felt  he  had  made  a 

150 


Father  Zosimus 

mean  capitulation,  and,  try  as  he  would,  he  was  un 
able  to  gloss  the  matter  to  his  conscience.  He  was 
stung  by  the  conviction  of  his  cowardice  and  disloy 
alty,  and  yet  his  common  sense  told  him  that  he  was 
powerless  in  his  wife's  hands.  He  could  never  outlive 
the  scandal  of  her  desertion,  or  explain  away  those 
letters  which  would  write  him  down  a  pervert.  In 
the  morning  Wesley  timidly  expostulated  with  his 
wife,  quoting  all  the  texts  he  could  remember  that 
bore  on  charity  and  forgiveness.  This  was  a  course 
little  calculated  to  allay  Mrs.  Cook's  wrath.  She  burst 
out  upon  him  with  a  fury  that  completely  crushed  his 
last  effort  at  intercession.  She  stood  over  him  as  he 
wrote  the  letter  in  which,  with  smooth  and  nicely  bal 
anced  sentences,  interspersed  with  religious  common 
places  and  trite  expressions  of  regret,  he  raised  a  wall 
of  words  between  himself  and  the  old  man  he  had 
called  his  friend.  He  knew,  he  said,  that  Father 
Zosimus  could  have  had  no  intention  to  offend,  but 
Mrs.  Cook  had  taken  the  matter  of  overnight  in  such 
a  way  that  he  felt  unable  to  resume  an  intimacy 
which  had  been  very  precious  to  him.  No  apologies 
or  explanations  could  avail,  and  he  begged  that  none 
be  offered ;  but  he  trusted,  he  need  not  say  how  ear 
nestly,  that  in  some  future  time  (D.  V.)  the  dark  clouds 
would  roll  away,  and  with  them  all  memories  of  this 
unhappy  misunderstanding. 

The  letter  was  brought  to  Father  Zosimus  in  the 
garden,  where  he  was  digging  furiously  to  drive  away 
the  devils  that  beset  him.  He  tore  it  open  with  his 
grimy  hands,  and  read  it  with  a  feeling  of  despair. 


Father  Zosimus 

The  few  kindly  allusions  brought  tears  to  his  eyes, 
and  his  first  resentment  against  Tutumanaia  passed 
away  as  he  re-read  them  j  but  against  Mrs.  Cook,  the 
author  of  his  humiliation,  his  whole  nature  rose  in 
arms.  Disciplined  though  he  was  by  seven  and  forty 
years  of  abnegation,  the  old  Adam  in  him  lay  still 
fiery  and  untamed.  He  was  consumed  with  bitterness 
towards  the  woman  who  had  so  cruelly  wronged  him. 
What  had  he  to  hope  "  in  some  future  time  (D.  V.)," 
old  and  broken  man  that  he  was  ?  In  the  fierceness 
of  his  indignation  he  called  down  the  vengeance  of 
God  upon  her  until  contrition  overpowered  him,  and 
he  threw  himself  on  his  knees. 

"Oh,  Zosimus/7  he  said,  "so  old  and  still  so 
foolish ! " 

After  such  a  blow  it  was  hard  to  pick  up  the 
threads  of  life  once  more,  and  interest  himself  in  the 
recurring  tasks  which  roiinded  out  each  day.  But  in 
Father  Zosimus  there  was  the  stuff  of  which  martyrs 
are  made.  Sore  of  heart  though  he  was,  and  spent  of 
body,  his  unremitting  energy  and  indomitable  faith 
drove  him  to  work  and  pray  as  he  had  never 
worked  or  prayed  before.  His  lacerated  feelings 
found  an  outlet  in  dazzling  garden-beds,  trellises  of 
bamboo,  and  in  the  stone  wall  he  had  so  often 
planned  and  as  often  given  up,  which  was  to  inclose 
the  seaward  side  of  his  little  plantation.  And  in 
these  tranquil  and  unexciting  occupations,  which 
kept  the  hands  busy  while  the  mind  was  free  to  rove, 
a  certain  scheme  unfolded  itself  which  found  increas 
ing  favour  in  his  eyes;  the  means,  in  fact,  by  which 

152 


Father  Zosimus 

he  might  score  a  triumph  over  Mrs.  Cook,  and  restore 
himself  once  again  in  her  good  graces.  Not  that  he 
had  forgiven  her  for  the  part  she  had  taken  against 
him ;  his  anger  still  smouldered  beneath  the  blanket  of 
Christian  charity  with  which  he  had  sought  to 
smother  it ;  but  were  he  to  gam  again  his  footing  in 
that  household  on  the  hill ;  were  he  to  renew  the  in 
timacy  that  was  the  very  salt  of  his  life ;  he  must 
needs  pay  toll  to  the  woman  who  held  the  key  of  his 
happiness.  As  he  dug,  or  weeded,  or  carried  stones 
to  his  wall,  or  climbed  the  ladder  beside  the  shining 
trellis- work,  the  old  priest  was  never  far  from  a  sheet 
of  paper  and  a  pencil.  Sometimes  it  was  a  hammer 
that  kept  these  things  in  place,  sometimes  it  was 
the  well-worn  shovel-hat  that  guarded  them  from 
the  puffs  of  the  trade  or  chance  cat's-paws  from  the 
mountains,  while  Zosimus,  his  head  economically 
wrapped  in  banana-leaves,  seized  many  an  occasion 
during  the  course  of  his  labours  to  scribble  another 
word  on  the  anchored  sheet,  or  erase  something  al 
ready  written.  It  was  a  list  of  such  delicacies  as  the 
limited  markets  of  Apia  afforded,  for  which  the  old 
man  was  intending  to  lay  out  the  savings  of  a  year. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  Rev.  Wesley  Cook 
was  having  a  particularly  pleasant  time  of  it  during 
the  days  that  followed  the  breaking  off  with  Father 
Zosimus.  For  half  a  week,  indeed,  his  wife  exerted 
herself  to  supply  the  old  man's  place,  and  had  never 
before  shown  herself  so  agreeable  or  so  helpful. 
She  interested  herself  in  Wesley's  legends,  listened 
patiently  to  the  story  of  Sopo's  misdoings,  of  the  bril- 


Father  Zosimus 

Kant  possibilities  that  lay  in  Popo  would  he  only 
apply  himself  in  earnest,  or  lamented  with  her  hus 
band  the  bad  influences  which  were  undermining  the 
character  of  a  gentleman  named  O ;  she  wrote  to 
his  dictation  a  little  essay  on  the  "King-names  of 
Samoa,"  which  Cook  intended  sending  to  the  Polyne 
sian  Society  of  New  Zealand;  and,  in  fact,  proved 
herself  a  zealous,  clever,  and  indefatigable  com 
rade.  All  thought  of  Father  Zosimus  would  soon 
have  slipped  from  Wesley's  memory  had  this  new 
found  companionship  been  destined  to  endure ;  but  it 
was  nothing  more  than  a  flash  in  the  pan,  due  half  to 
remorse,  half  to  policy,  a  means  to  gain  time  for  the 
breach  to  widen  irrevocably  between  her  husband 
and  the  priest. 

The  sour,  capricious  woman  could  not  long  brook 
the  task  she  had  set  herself  to  perform;  her  spirit 
soon  flagged  in  the  dull  round  which  made  up  her 
husband's  life,  and  her  new  part  in  it  grew  daily 
more  intolerable.  She  slowly  lapsed  again  into  the 
dark  humour  which  was  fast  becoming  her  second 
nature,  and  took  no  further  trouble  to  conciliate  her 
husband.  Cook  was  slow  to  realise  the  change,  but 
when  at  last  it  dawned  upon  him  that  she  listened 
with  unconcealed  indifference  to  the  tale  of  the  day's 
doings,  and  made  no  further  pretence  of  caring  either 
for  his  work  in  Fangaloa  or  for  the  literary  labours 
which  were  his  only  relaxation,  he,  too,  grew  gloomy 
and  dispirited.  The  essay  languished ;  the  "  Peep  o* 
Day"  stood  still;  and  he  spent  solitary  hours  in  his 
study  in  a  kind  of  stupor.  A  thousand  times  his 


Father  Zosimus 

heart  turned  towards  his  old  friend,  and  he  longed  to 
throw  himself  at  his  feet  and  say,  "  Father,  comfort 
me !  I  am  weak  of  spirit  and  sore  distressed."  But 
loyalty  to  the  overwrought  and  nigh  crazy  woman  he 
called  his  wife,  as  well  as  the  timidity  which  was 
constitutional  in  the  man,  forbade  an  open  reconcilia 
tion,  and  he  shrank  from  the  thoughts  of  a  clandes 
tine  one.  So  he  went  his  lonely  way,  bearing  his 
cross  as  best  he  might. 

At  last  the  time  grew  near  for  the  execution  of  the 
plan  which  had  cost  Father  Zosimus  so  much  trouble 
and  calculation,  not  to  speak  of  many  dollars  from 
his  scanty  hoard. 

On  Christmas  morn,  as  the  cannon  at  Faleapuni 
pealed  along  the  shore  and  roused  the  villages  with  its 
joyful  reverberations,  Father  Zosimus  hastened  to 
transform  his  dwelling  into  a  bower  of  ferns  and 
flowers.  With  Filipo  to  assist  him,  and  'afa  enough 
to  have  built  a  chiefs  house,  the  pair  worked  unceas 
ingly  until  there  remained  not  an  inch  without  its 
flower  nor  a  post  unentwined  with  brilliant  creepers 
and  fragrant  mostfoi.  He  drew  a  breath  of  satisfac 
tion  when  it  was  all  finished  to  his  liking,  and  while 
Filipo  swept  out  the  litter  he  sat  down  and  wrote  the 
following  letter : 

FANGALOA,  December  25,  186-. 

MY  DEAR  CHILDREN  :  On  this  blessed  morning  no  Chris 
tian  can  harbour  any  unkindness  in  his  heart,  nor  cast  up 
another's  shortcomings  against  him.  I  am  an  old  and  a 
failing  man  j  the  day  of  my  release  is  close  at  hand,  and  you 
both  must  be  generous  to  me  as  one  so  soon  to  stand  before 

'55 


Father  Zosimus 

his  God.  And  if  I  have  unwittingly  offended  you,— as  I 
know  I  have  done,— I  pray  you  to  forgive  me  for  the  sake 
of  Him  who  was  born  to-day.  I  have  ventured  to  prepare 
a  little  feast  in  your  honour,  with  which  I  hope  we  may 
celebrate,  in  innocent  gaiety,  the  renewal  of  our  friend 
ship.  At  twelve  o'clock  I  shall  expect  you  both. 

I  remain,  my  dear  children,  with  heartfelt  wishes  for 
your  good  health  and  continued  prosperity, 

Your  old  friend, 

ZOSIMUS,  S.  J. 

He  read  the  note  several  times  to  himself  before 
putting  it  into  an  envelope  and  addressing  it  to  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Cook.  Filipo  was  at  hand,  garlanded  with 
red  singano  and  elegantly  garbed  in  white,  prepared  to 
make  a  good  appearance  before  the  yonng  ladies  of 
the  mission.  He  trotted  off  with  the  note  carefully 
wrapped  in  a  banana-leaf,  that  it  might  be  delivered 
in  all  its  virgin  purity.  Father  Zosimus  lit  a  pipe 
and  impatiently  set  himself  to  await  his  messenger's 
return. 

"  Sefi  ave  le  tusi  lea  ia  Misi,"  said  Filipo  to  the 
young  lady  that  met  him  at  the  door.  "  Ou  te  ftfatali 
i'inei  mo  le  tali."  ("Give  this  letter  to  Misi.  I  will 
wait  here  for  the  answer.")  Now,  in  Samoa,  the  word 
"Misi"  is  used  to  designate  and  address  Protestant 
missionaries  of  either  sex,  and  the  maid  carried  the 
letter,  not  to  Wesley  Cook  in  his  study,  but  to  Mrs. 
Cook,  who  was  listlessly  lolling  in  the  sitting-room. 
She  tore  it  open,  read  it  with  attention,  and  putting  it 
hastily  in  her  pocket,  bade  the  girl  send  Filipo  away. 
"  Tell  him  Misi  says  there  is  no  answer,"  she  said. 

156 


Father  Zosimus 

The  old  catechist  skipped  down  the  hill,  and  re 
peated  to  his  master  the  message  that  had  been 
given  him. 

Father  Zosimus  was  painfully  overcome. 

"  Filipo,"  he  said,  "  did  you  see  the  minister  with 
your  very  own  eyes  ? " 

" Toe"  answered  the  catechist,  cheerfully j  " he  was 
writing  in  his  room,  and  I  saw  him  through  the  win 
dow,  looking  very  sad,  and  eating  his  pen  like  a  cow 
at  a  breadfruit-tree."  Filipo  mimicked  the  action  on 
his  finger. 

Father  Zosimus  sat  for  a  long  time  in  a  kind  of 
dream.  A  glass  of  wine  served  to  rouse  and 
strengthen  him,  and  the  unaccustomed  stimulant  put 
him  in  some  sort  of  trim  to  carry  on  the  duties  of  the 
day.  But  a  recurring  dizziness  and  a  sinking  at  the 
heart  soon  drove  him  to  take  an  enforced  rest.  He  told 
Filipo  he  did  not  care  to  eat,  bidding  him  put  away 
the  wine,  and  call  losefo  and  his  family  to  the  feast 
that  had  been  made  ready  for  such  different  guests. 

With  the  passing  of  Christmas  Father  Zosimus 
began  to  work  harder  than  ever  in  his  garden ;  early 
and  late  he  could  be  seen  in  the  midst  of  its  blooming 
flower-beds,  digging,  weeding,  or  transplanting  with 
passionate  intensity.  A  loutish  fellow  from  the  west 
ward,  a  heavy-featured  son  of  Wallis  Island,  had  been 
engaged  to  divide  the  burden  of  these  tasks,  and  for  a 
wage  infinitesimally  small  toiled  and  sweated  under  the 
father's  eye.  To  guard  this  creature  from  the  prattle 
of  the  passers-by,  and  to  check  his  tendency  to  gaze 
dreamily  into  the  sun;  to  stifle  his  inclination  to 

*57 


Father  Zosimus 

drink,  to  smoke,  to  chatter,  to  explain  how  much  bet 
ter  they  did  things  in  Wallis  Island  j  to  keep  his  fat 
face,  in  fact,  on  the  weeds  in  front  of  him,  became, 
indeed,  Father  Zosimus's  constant  study.  Day  by 
day,  he  stood  sentinel  over  his  Uvean,  applied  the 
man's  clumsy  force  to  profitable  ends,  and  kept  his 
own  unconquerable  heart  from  breaking. 

It  was  not  every  day  he  could  pursue  the  occupa 
tion  he  loved  best,  and  watch  his  plans  take  shape 
with  slow  but  appreciable  success.  January  falls  in 
the  depth  of  the  wet  season ;  furious  rains  and  long 
stretches  of  boisterous  weather  often  interrupted  the 
Uvean's  labours,  driving  both  him  and  his  taskmaster 
to  the  enforced  idleness  of  the  house — the  former  to 
sleep  on  the  floor  or  to  smoke  interminable  suluis 
with  Filipo :  the  priest  to  read  his  breviary  by  dim 
lamplight  as  the  deluge  pounded  on  the  roof.  It  was 
during  one  of  these  black  days,  when  all  the  world 
was  awash  outside,  and  a  wild  westerly  wind  was 
tearing  through  the  trees,  bombarding  the  village 
with  crashing  boughs  and  cocoanuts,  that  the  priest's 
ancient  barometer  sank  to  29°,  and  gave  a  quivering 
promise  of  worse  to  follow.  He  was  looking  at  the 
mercury,  and  setting  the  gauge,  when  Filipo  appeared 
in  the  passage,  his  face  bright  with  news. 

"The  partner  of  Tutumanaia  is  known  to  your 
Highness  ? "  he  began,  with  a  question  that  might  well 
have  appeared  superfluous. 

Father  Zosimus  turned  instantly. 

"  God  is  high-chief  angry  with  her  rock-like  heart," 
went  on  Filipo,  with  the  calm  intonation  of  one  vin- 

158 


Father  Zosimus 

dicated.  "  She  was  presumptuous  and  beautiful  like 
an  angel  •  now  she  is  pig-faced  and  torn  of  devils  j  and 
her  man,  oh,  he  weeps  like  an  aitu  in  the  wilderness." 

"Whence  didst  thou  get  this  tala?"  asked  the 
priest,  mindful  of  past  mare's  nests  on  his  servant's 
part. 

"  The  tola  is  a  true  one,  Zosimus,"  he  said.  "  Even 
now  the  pastor  of  Faleapuni  is  praying  with  a  loud 
voice  in  the  room  of  the  sick,  tussling  with  the  devil, 
while  the  family  shrieks  and  is  distracted.  The  hand 
of  God  lies  heavy  upon  her,  and  they  say  she  will  die ; 
her  face  scorches  the  touch  like  a  hot  lamp,  and  she 
talks  constantly  the  words  of  devils." 

Zosimus  made  a  gesture  of  annoyance;  at  any 
other  time  he  would  have  reproved  Filipo  for  retailing 
such  heathenish  fables,  and  reopened  a  discussion 
that  had  continued  between  them  for  upward  of 
thirty  years ;  but  his  solicitude  for  Wesley  Cook  mo 
nopolised  every  thought,  and  he  allowed  his  servant's 
words  to  pass  unchallenged. 

"But  her  sickness!"  he  demanded.  "How  first 
did  it  come  upon  her  ? " 

"  It  was  thus,"  returned  Filipo :  "  thy  grieving  heart 
was  known  of  God,  and  when  he  looked  down  at  that 
costly  feast  to  which  neither  the  minister  nor  his  wife 
would  deign  to  come—" 

"  Stop  !  "  cried  the  priest.  "  This  is  the  talk  of  an 
untattooed  boy.  Have  I  not  told  thee  a  thousand 
times  that  sickness  has  invariably  a  cause  ? " 

"  The  maids  say  that  last  week  she  had  a  long  talk 
with  her  husband,"  said  Filipo,  "and  together  they 

"59 


Father  Zosimus 

quarrelled  until  she  talked  loud  and  fierce,  like  a  Ger 
man,  and  he  cried  and  cried,  and  threw  himself  on 
the  mats.  Then  she  went  out  of  the  house,  and  to 
her  there  was  neither  umbrella  nor  coat,  though  it 
rained  5  and  she  walked,  uselessly,  all  the  way  to 
Faleapuni,  so  burned  her  heart  with  anger  j  and  when 
she  returned  she  was  trembling  with  the  cold  so  that 
her  teeth  went  thus.  Then  she  went  to  bed,  and 
vomited  terribly,  and  every  time  she  breathed,  it  hurt 
her  chest  so  that  she  said,  l  Ugh !  ugh ! '  like  a  man 
sorely  wounded  on  the  field.  Then  the  minister  came 
to  her  and  tried  to  talk  and  bedarling  her ;  but  she 
mocked  at  him,  and  said  her  heart  was  in  the  White 
Country.  After  that  she  began  to  talk  the  devil-stut 
tering  which  is  not  understandable  of  man." 

Father  Zosimus's  jaw  fell,  and  he  looked  about  him 
like  a  man  on  the  brink  of  some  great  resolve. 

"She  was  never  the  same  after  the  day  of  the 
feast,"  said  Filipo. 

The  priest  put  on  his  yellow  oilskin,  and  placing  a 
bottle  of  brandy  in  one  pocket,  he  grasped  the 
bunched  umbrella  that  was  his  inseparable  compan 
ion.  Thus  prepared  to  face  the  elements  and  carry 
succour  to  the  sick,  he  made  his  way  into  the  open  and 
ascended  the  hill  towards  the  mission-house.  His 
face  tingled  under  the  lash  of  the  wind  and  rain  as  he 
struggled  on,  dodging  the  nuts  that  occasionally  shot 
across  his  path  like  cannon-balls;  and  when  at  last 
he  reached  his  goal  in  safety,  he  was  surprised  to  see 
the  curtains  pulled  down  within,  arid  to  find  no  one 
to  answer  his  repeated  knocks. 

160 


Father  Zosimus 

He  was  emboldened  to  turn  the  knob  and  enter, 
which  he  did  hesitatingly,  not  knowing  what  recep 
tion  awaited  him.  At  the  end  of  the  hall  a  half-open 
door  let  out  a  flood  of  lamplight,  betraying  one  room, 
at  least,  in  which  he  might  expect  to  find  some  mem 
ber  of  the  household.  On  the  bed  beside  the  wall 
Mrs.  Cook  lay  in  disordered  bedclothes,  her  glassy 
eyes  upturned  in  delirium,  her  face  yellow  and 
pinched  almost  beyond  recognition,  one  thin  arm  on 
the  pillow  beneath  her  head,  the  other  thrown  limply 
across  the  sheet.  Not  far  from  her,  in  shabby  dress 
ing-gown  and  slippers,  Wesley  himself  was  asleep  in 
a  canvas  chair,  sunk  in  the  deep  oblivion  that  follows 
an  all-night  watch.  On  the  floor  two  native  girls 
slumbered  in  boluses  of  matting,  their  heads  side  by 
side  on  a  bamboo  pillow.  The  priest  stole  softly  to 
the  bed  and  looked  down  on  Mrs.  Cook's  face ;  but 
there  was  no  understanding  in  the  bright,  troubled 
glance  that  met  his  own,  no  coherence  in  the  whispered 
words  she  repeated  to  herself.  He  was  angered  to 
think  of  his  own  ignorance  and  helplessness  as  he 
stood  the  brandy  on  the  littered  table  beside  the  copy 
of  "  Simple  Remedies  for  the  Home/7  and  studied  the 
woman  with  renewed  anxiety.  In  truth,  she  looked 
grievously  ill.  Sixty  miles  of  wild  water  and  moun 
tainous  seas  separated  them  from  Apia  and  the  only 
doctor  in  the  group;  he  shivered  as  he  caught  the 
wail  of  the  wind  without,  and  saw  in  mind  the 
breakers  that  were  thundering  against  their  iron 
coast. 

He  fell  on  his  knees  and  prayed,  and  then  went  out 

1 61 


Father  Zosimus 

into  the  air  again,  his  mind  made  up  to  a  desperate 
measure.  He  now  took  another  path,  one  that  led 
him  across  the  village  to  Tuisunga's  stately  house. 
It  was  nearly  filled  with  chiefs  and  speaking-men, 
ranged  round  in  a  great  circle,  and  the  high-pitched, 
measured  periods  of  an  orator  could  be  heard  above 
the  wind  and  the  pelting  rain.  On  his  approach  there 
burst  out  a  chorus  of  "  Malm  mai,  susu  mai,  ali'i  Zo- 
simo";  and  he  bent  under  the  eaves  and  made  his 
way,  half  crouching,  to  a  place  by  Tuisunga's  side. 
The  eyes  of  all  the  party  turned  on  him  with  surprise, 
and  there  was  a  little  burst  of  expectation,  broken 
only  by  the  embittered  hawking  of  the  interrupted 
orator. 

"  Your  Majesty  Tuisunga,  chiefs,  and  speaking-men 
of  Fangaloa,"  began  Zosimus,  "be  not  angry  with 
me  for  disturbing  this  meeting.  I  have  just  come 
from  the  house  of  mourning,  where  God's  hand  lies 
heavy  upon  your  pastor's  wife,  so  that  she  is  like  to 
die.  It  is  my  thought  that  we  take  a  boat  and  go  with 
all  expedition  for  the  German  doctor  in  Apia." 

"  Chief  Zosimus,"  answered  Tuisunga,  "  the  gentle 
men  you  see  before  you  have  been  discussing  this 
very  matter.  We  are  agreed  that  if  the  lady  is  to 
live,  we  must  seek  help  at  once  from  the  wise  white 
man  in  Apia,  though  the  storm  is  heavy  upon  us,  and 
the  risk  more  than  bullets  in  the  fighting  line.  But 
what  boat  can  live  in  such  a  gale,  save  one  that  is 
strong  indeed,  and  well  wrought?  Our  man-of-war 
that  pulls  forty  oars  is  with  Forster  to  be  mended ; 
my  own  whaler  is  too  old  and  rotten  for  so  bold  a 

162 


Father  Zosimus 

malanga ;  the  others  we  possess  are  small  and  use 
less." 

"  There  is  Ngau's  boat/7  said  the  priest,  with  a  flash 
of  his  eyes  towards  a  sullen-looking  old  chief.  "  It  is 
new,  and  strong  like  a  ship  of  two  masts." 

Ngau's  withered  face  hardened.  A  titter  ran  round 
the  assembled  chiefs. 

"  That  is  the  knot,"  said  Tuisunga ;  "  it  is  not  the 
will  of  Ngau  to  give  his  boat,  lest  it  be  cast  away." 

"  Not  to  save  the  life  of  a  dying  woman  ? "  de 
manded  Father  Zosimus. 

"  Ngau  is  accustomed  to  the  white  man's  way,"  said 
Tuisunga.  "He  is  mean,  and  his  heart  is  like  a 
stone." 

All  eyes  turned  to  Ngau,  who  stared  back,  defiant 
and  unabashed. 

"  If  he  has  a  white  man's  heart,  we  will  treat  him 
to  the  white  man's  law,"  cried  Zosimus.  "We  will 
take  his  boat  by  force." 

"  But  it  is  Ngau's  boat,"  said  Tuisunga. 

"  It  is  Ngau's  boat,"  echoed  the  chiefs. 

"  And  thou  wilt  let  the  woman  die  ? "  cried  Father 
Zosimus. 

"  It  is  Ngau's  boat,"  said  Tuisunga. 

"What  dost  thou  want  for  the  boat?"  demanded 
the  priest. 

"  Five  dollars  and  a  tin  of  biscuit,"  replied  Ngau, 
promptly ;  "  and  if  it  be  wrecked,  one  hundred  and 
twelve  dollars,  a  water-bottle,  and  a  coil  of  rope  as 
thick  as  a  man's  thumb." 

"I  will  take  it  on  myself,"  said  Father  Zosimus. 


163 


Father  Zosimus 

"  I  am  poor  j  I  belong  to  a  faith  that  thou  deridest ; 
yet  my  heart  is  not  weak  and  fearful  like  thine.  I 
will  answer  for  thy  boat,  Chief  Ngau,  before  all  these 
gentlemen  as  witnesses." 

"  0  le  tino  tupe  lava  [hard  money]"  inquired  Ngau, 
"to  be  put  in  my  hand  before  the  young  men  touch 
my  boat  ? " 

"I  have  not  so  much,"  cried  the  priest.  "I  have 
not  money  in  my  house  like  drinking-nuts.  It  comes 
this  month,  and  that  a  little  at  a  time.  But  I  tell  thee 
truly,  I  will  pay  thee  every  seni." 

The  owner  of  the  boat  shook  his  head. 

"I  want  one  hundred  and  twelve  dollars,"  he  said, 
"  a  water-bottle,  and  a  coil  of  rope  as  thick  as  my 
thumb." 

"Why  dost  thou  call  thyself  chief  of  this  village, 
Tuisunga  ? "  demanded  the  priest.  "  The  only  chief  I 
see  here  is  Ngau.  He  speaks :  we  obey.  It  matters 
not  what  I  want,  or  what  thou  wishest,  or  whether 
the  pastor's  wife  lies  dying.  It  is  his  Majesty  Ngau 
who  is  King  of  Fangaloa.  Thy  power  is  no  stronger 
than  that  of  an  untattooed  boy." 

"But  it  is  Ngau's  boat,"  said  Tuisunga,  looking 
very  black. 

"Zosimus,"  said  Ngau,  "$iey  tell  me  thou  hast 
costly  things  in  thy  church — cups  of  silver,  two  silver 
candlesticks,  each  heavy  as  a  gun,  and  a  silver  cross 
on  which  there  is  the  image  of  Jesus.  Bring  these 
to  me,  together  with  five  dollars  of  hard  money  and 
the  musical  box  that  sounds  so  sweetly  of  an  evening, 
and  I  will  hold  them  for  the  price  of  my  boat.  If  it 

164 


Father  Zosimus 

be  cast,  tliou  slialt  pay  me,  from  time  to  time,  one 
hundred  and  twelve  dollars,  a  water-bottle,  and  a  coil 
of  rope  as  thick  as  a  man's  thumb,  and  when  the  con 
tract  is  finished  I  will  give  thee  back  the  precious 
things.  But  if  no  harm  befall  the  boat,  I  shall  return 
them  at  once,  and  the  price  of  it  will  be  five  dollars 
and  a  tin  of  biscuit." 

"  Thou  shalt  have  them,"  cried  Father  Zosimus ; 
"and  if  thou  hadst  said,  'Zosimus,  take  an  axe  and 
strike  off  thy  right  hand,'  that  also  would  I  have  done. 
A  life  is  more  to  me  than  dollars  in  a  bag,  Chief  Ngau. 
Of  thee,  Tuisunga,  one  only  is  the  question  I  desire  to 
ask :  When  I  bring  back  my  precious  things  accord 
ing  to  the  will  of  Ngau,  how  may  I  be  sure,  indeed, 
that  thou  wilt  not  claim  another  price  for  the  crew  ? n 

The  chief  hung  his  head.  "  We  are  not  all  like 
Ngau,"  he  returned. 

In  half  an  hour  the  priest  was  back,  with  Filipo  at 
his  heels,  the  arms  of  both  filled  with  well- wrapped 
packages.  Father  Zosimus  laid  his  burden  on  the 
floor,  and  began  to  pluck  away  the  siapo  that  en 
folded  it. 

"  Stop  !  "  cried  Tuisunga. 

The  priest  desisted  with  a  look  of  angry  wonder, 
as  though  some  fresh  imposition  were  to  be  laid 
upon  him. 

"  Zosimus,"  said  Tuisunga,  "  since  thou  left  us,  these 
gentlemen  and  myself  have  been  looking  down  into 
our  hearts.  They  are  black  and  pig-like,  and  we  feel 
ashamed  before  thee.  It  would  be  a  mock  and  an 
everlasting  disgrace  to  Fangaloa  wert  thou  to  sacri- 

165 


Father  Zosimus 

fice  thy  holy  things  to  the  meanness  of  the  pig-face 
Ngau.  We  have  taken  counsel  together  in  thine  ab 
sence,  and  this  is  our  decision:  The  boat  shall  be 
taken  from  Ngau,  and  not  one  seni  shall  be  paid  him, 
nor  shall  a  water-bottle  be  given,  nor  a  coil  of  rope ; 
and  if  his  boat  be  cast  away,  well,  it  is  God's  will. 
Furthermore,  Ngau's  house  shall  be  burned  and  his 
plantation  destroyed  for  a  punishment,  and  thou  shalt 
have  him  (if  thou.  shouldst  so  high-chief  will)  to  make 
of  him  a  Catholic  j  for  Ngau  has  been  expelled  from 
the  Protestant  religion,  and  his  communion  ticket 
has  been  taken  from  him  as  one  unworthy." 

Father  Zosimus  said  nothing,  but  his  eyes  gleamed 
like  coals  of  fire  as  he  hurriedly  put  his  treasures  in 
order  for  their  return ;  in  a  trice  Filipo  was  scudding 
away  with  them  down  the  hill,  to  the  mirth  of  all  the 
chiefs,  some  of  whom  shouted  after  him  derisively  to 
make  haste. 

"  When  are  we  to  start  ? "  asked  the  priest.  "  If  it 
be  thy  high-chief  will,  the  sooner  the  better." 

"  But  thou  canst  not  go,"  said  Tuisunga.  "  Thou 
art  old  and  unfit." 

"No  man  is  too  old  to  serve  God,"  returned  the 
priest. 

There  rose  a  murmur  of  dissent  from  the  assembled 
chiefs.  The  old  man  would  be  a  dead  weight  in  the 
boat  j  by  carrying  a  priest  they  would  infallibly  bring 
down  the  anger  of  God  upon  them  all ;  even  the  whites 
who  cared  for  naught  but  money  dreaded  to  sail  with 
afaifeau. 

11  This  is  foolish  talk,"  said  Tuisunga.     "  Do  we  not 

166 


Father  Zosimus 

need  Zosimus  to  talk  for  us  in  Apia?  Do  we  not 
know  the  ways  of  whites,  and  their  disdain  and  pride  ? 
Who  will  speak  to  the  German  doctor  ?  Everywhere 
we  shall  be  disregarded  and  mocked  at.  We  will  say 
that  the  wife  of  Tutumanaia  is  dying,  and  behold, 
they  will  answer  with  contumely.  '  There  is  no  such 
minister,'  for  we  know  not  his  name  in  the  foreign 
stutter." 

"Let  us  start/7  cried  Father  Zosimus.  "We  have 
no  time  to  waste." 

On  the  rocky  beach  they  found  the  boat  had  already 
been  drawn  from  the  shed  and  made  ready  by  the 
young  men.  Ngau's  house,  which  stood  close  by  the 
landing,  was  packed  with  his  relatives  and  family, 
who  looked  out  from  beneath  the  eaves  with  lowering 
faces.  The  sea  was  white  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach,  and  was  bursting  furiously  against  the  coast 
and  into  the  half-moon  of  the  bay,  while  overhead, 
and  against  the  obliterated  sky-line,  the  wild  clouds 
drove  stormily  to  leeward.  The  young  men  looked 
troubled,  and  old  Tuisunga  himself  was  lost  in  gloom 
as  he  studied  the  breakers  that  seemed  about  to  en 
gulf  them.  Father  Zosimus  alone  was  calm  and 
unconcerned  in  the  busy  tumult  of  their  making 
ready  j  for  was  not  God  beside  him,  with  the  blessed 
saints?  Bidding  Filipo  tell  the  minister  of  their  er 
rand,  he  took  his  seat  without  a  tremor  when  the 
young  men  lined  themselves  beside  the  gunwales,  and 
began  to  drive  the  boat  slowly  into  the  water. 

There  was  a  yell  as  she  floated  off.  The  young 
men  sprang  to  their  paddles,  while  Tuisunga  seized 

167 


Father  Zosimus 

the  steering-oar  in  his  sinewy  hands.  They  rode  dry 
over  the  first  wave,  then  dug  into  the  next  bow  fore 
most,  and  rose  half  swamped.  The  third  was  a  huge 
comber,  green  as  bottle-glass,  steep  as  a  park  wall, 
which  shot  up  before  them  and  raced  shoreward  with 
a  smoking  crest.  There  was  a  convulsive  scurry 
among  the  crew ;  a  roar  from  the  crowded  beach ;  as 
Tuisunga,  standing  full  upright  in  the  stern,  and 
swaying  with  every  jerk  of  the  paddles,  headed  the 
boat  into  the  boiling  avalanche.  The  whaler  rose 
like  a  cork,  darted  her  nose  high  in  air,  and  for 
one  awful  moment  seemed  to  stand  on  end.  When 
Father  Zosimus  opened  his  eyes,  she  was  speeding 
seaward  on  something  like  an  even  keel,  sixteen 
eager  paddles  driving  her  past  the  point  where  the 
breakers  sprang.  But  working  out  of  the  bight, 
they  lost  the  shelter  it  gave  them,  and  began  to 
feel,  for  the  first  time,  the  unrestrained  fury  of  the 
gale.  There  was  a  frightful  sea  running;  the  boat 
took  in  water  at  every  turn ;  and  though  the  wind  was 
favourable,  they  could  not  take  advantage  of  it  at 
once.  A  rag  of  sail  was  raised  at  last,  and  a  straight 
course  laid  for  Apia,  while  half  the  crew  rested  and 
the  other  half  baled.  But  no  boat  could  run  before 
such  a  sea  as  followed  them.  They  had  one  narrow 
escape,  then  another  by  a  hair's-breadth ;  and  as  they 
tried  to  turn,  a  great  black  wave  suddenly  caught 
and  smothered  them  beneath  mountains  of  water. 
The  crew  rose  laughing  and  shouting  to  the  surface, 
but  one  grey  head  was  missing.  Father  Zosimus  had 
received  his  martyr's  crown. 

168 


FRENCHY'S  LAST   JOB 


FRENCHY'S  LAST  JOB 

liTY  health  at  college  having  shown  signs  of  giving 
IrJL  way,  Uncle  George  had  been  kind  enough  to 
advance  the  means  for  my  passage  to  Brisbane,  Au 
stralia,  and  back,  in  order  to  carry  out  the  doctor's 
recommendation  for  a  long  sea-voyage.  I  scarcely 
think  the  good  man  intended  me  to  go  steerage  in  a 
cargo-boat,  which  I  did  to  make  my  money  last  ;  and 
I  imagine  he  would  have  been  anything  but  pleased 
if  he  could  have  seen  me  on  the  eve  of  starting  from 
Brisbane  itself  for  the  South  Sea  Islands  with  twelve 
tons  of  assorted  merchandise.  Indeed,  I  was  not  a 
little  surprised  at  myself,  and  at  times  in  the  long 
night  watches  I  blubbered  like  a  baby  at  my  own 
venture someness.  But  with  me,  though  my  people 
at  home  did  not  know  it,  college  had  been  a  failure. 
I  sometimes  wondered  whether  I  was  unusually  dull, 
or  my  companions  at  that  inhospitable  northern  uni 
versity  were  above  the  normal  intelligence;  but 
whatever  the  cause,  I  know  only  that  I  was  unable  to 
keep  the  pace  that  was  set  me  to  follow. 

And  here  I  was,  with  my  heart  in  my  mouth,  start 
ing  on  a  career  of  my  own  choosing,  the  lessee  of  a 
trading  station  on  an  island  called  Tapatuea !  More 
I  knew  not,  beyond  the  fact  that  I  was  to  receive  a 

171 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

moiety  of  any  profits  I  might  earn,  and  had  bound 
myself  to  stay  where  I  was  put  for  the  space  of  three 
years.  Considering  my  age  and  inexperience,  this 
was  a  most  liberal  arrangement,  and  I  have  never 
ceased  wondering  since  how  my  employers,  Messrs. 
John  Caesar  Bibo  &  Co.,  were  ever  dragooned  into 
adding  me  to  their  forces.  I  say  " dragooned"  ad 
visedly,  for  it  was  due  entirely  to  my  good  friend 
Henry  Hears,  the  shipping  broker  of  Lonsdale  Place, 
that  I  happened  to  be  engaged,  in  spite  of  the  firm's 
most  strenuous  protest.  Mears  had  taken  to  me 
from  the  day  I  first  wandered  into  his  office  by  an 
accident;  and  from  that  time  down  to  the  sailing 
hour  of  the  Belle  Mahone  there  was  nothing  he  would 
not  do  to  serve  me.  I  am  not  sure  that  he  was  finan 
cially  interested  in  the  firm  of  John  Cassar  Bibo  & 
Co.,  but  he  always  acted  as  though  his  was  the  con 
trolling  voice  in  its  affairs,  and  he  was  the  only  man 
I  ever  knew  who  dared  stand  up  to  Old  Bee,  as  we 
called  him.  This  last-named,  the  directing  spirit  of  a 
business  that  spread  its  net  over  half  the  islands  of 
the  Pacific,  was  a  grim,  taciturn  individual  of  an 
indeterminable  age,— it  was  variously  reckoned  from 
seventy  to  a  hundred  and  ten,— who  made  periodical 
descents  into  Mears's  office,  and  sat  closeted  there  for 
hours.  His  presence  always  inspired  constraint,  and 
the  sight  of  his  ancient,  sallow  cheek  was  enough  to 
thin  the  ranks  of  the  broker's  clients— shipmasters 
and  supercargoes  for  the  most  part,  not  all  of  them 
sober,  and  none,  apparently,  able  to  look  Old  Bee  in 
the  eye. 

172 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

I  shall  never  forget  iny  introduction  to  the  great 
man. 

"  This  is  a  nice  boy,  Mr.  Bibo,  sir,"  said  Mears,  in 
dicating  me  with  a  cast  of  his  eye. 

"  Oh !  "  said  Old  Bee. 

"I  want  him  to  have  that  Tapatuea  store,"  said 
Mears. 

"  You  mean  the  easterly  one,  where  Bob  killed  the 
Chinaman?"  he  asked. 

"Yes." 

"  I  '11  see  him  in  hell  first,"  said  Old  Bee. 

I  thought  this  ended  the  matter  for  good,  and  said 
as  much  to  Mears  when  John  Ca3sar  had  departed. 
But  my  friend  was  far  from  being  cast  down. 

"Oh,  that  7s  all  right,"  he  said.  "I  count  it  as 
good  as  settled." 

This  was  more  than  I  could  say,  and  I  had  no 
cause  to  change  my  mind  on  my  next  meeting  with 
Old  Bee. 

"  I  'm  putting  twelve  tons  of  stuff  aboard  for  the 
Tapatuea  store,"  said  Mears,  "  and  I  've  told  Young 
Hopeful,  here,  that  you  '11  keep  a  berth  for  him." 

"  The  devil ! "  said  Old  Bee,  and  went  straight  on 
with  the  business  he  had  in  hand. 

The  next  day  the  broker  signed  my  contract  by 
virtue  of  some  power  of  attorney  he  possessed  for 
Bibo  &  Co. 

"If  he  backs  out  now,  you  can  sue  him  for  dam 
ages,"  he  said  cheerfully. 

I  was  in  a  tremble  when  I  next  met  my  employer. 
It  was  near  our  sailing  time,  and  he  was  in  a  violent 

173 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

hurry.  He  threw  down  a  paper  on  the  desk  and  told 
Mears  it  was  the  list  of  things  he  had  put  by  for  the 
last. 

"  Send  some  one  along  for  them/'  he  said,  "  some 
one  that  knows  how  to  keep  his  mouth  shut.  I  've 
clean  forgot  all  that  business  of  the  King  of  Pinga- 
lap's  :  the  breech-loading  cannon  I  promised  him  from 
Hudson's,  and  those  damned  guinea-fowls,  and  that 
cylinder  for  his  musical  box !  " 

"  Here  's  one  of  your  own  men,"  said  Mears.  "  You 
know  young  Bence  ?  n 

"Good  God,  that  child!"  cried  the  old  man. 
"Did  n't  I  tell  you  I  would  n't  have  him?" 

"  Pity  you  had  n't  spoken  before,"  said  the  broker, 
with  surprise.  "  I  only  signed  his  contract  yesterday." 

Old  Bee  regarded  me  sourly. 

"  I  don't  understand  the  joke,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  come,  come.  He  's  twenty- two  if  he 's  a  day," 
said  Mears,  adding  four  years  to  my  age ;  "  and  as  to 
being  young,  I  dare  say  he  '11  get  over  it." 

"  What  's  he  done,  that  you  're  so  keen  to  get  him 
off?"  said  Old  Bee,  still  eyeing  me  with  strong  dis 
favour.  "  However,  as  you  have  made  it  your  business 
to  push  him  down  my  throat,  I  suppose  I  've  got  to 
bolt  him." 

"He  'd  sue  you  like  a  shot  if  you  did  n't,"  said 
Mears.  "  With  that  contract  in  his  pocket  he  's  regu 
larly  got  you  in  his  power." 

This  view  of  the  situation  made  even  Old  Bee  smile, 
and  caused  Mears  to  laugh  outright.  For  me  it  was 
scarcely  so  entertaining  j  never  in  my  life  had  I  felt 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

so  small  or  insignificant,  though  I  plucked  up  courage 
when  the  great  man  handed  me  his  list  and  bade  the 
broker  count  me  out  sixty  sovereigns.  This  showed 
that  in  some  small  measure  I  must  have  won  his  good 
opinion,  a  conviction  that  was  still  further  strength 
ened  by  his  departure,  when,  in  the  excitement  and 
flurry  of  the  moment,  he  even  shook  me  by  the  hand. 
A  few  days  after  this  conversation  I  found  myself 
at  sea,  a  regularly  enrolled  trader  of  the  firm's,  and 
one  of  the  after-guard  of  the  bark  Belle  Mahone,  Cap 
tain  Mins.  We  were  bound,  according  to  the  time- 
honoured  formula,  "  for  the  island  of  Guam  or  any 
other  port  the  master  may  so  direct."  I  presume 
there  are  ships  that  actually  do  go  to  Guam,— if,  in 
deed,  there  be  such  a  place  at  all,— but  it  has  never 
been  my  fate  to  come  across  one.  Our  Guam  was 
like  the  rest,  a  polite  fiction  to  cover  up  our  track  and 
leave  a  veil  of  mystery  over  our  voyage.  Besides 
John  Caesar  Bibo,  with  whom  I  have  already  made 
you  acquainted,  there  were  three  others  in  our  little 
company  astern.  Captain  Mins  was  a  short,  bull- 
necked  man  of  fifty,  with  abrupt  manners  and  a  singu 
larly  deliberate  way  of  speech,  due  perhaps  to  some 
impediment  of  the  tongue.  This  lent  to  his  utterance 
a  gravity  almost  judicial,  and  gave  an  added  force  to 
the  contradiction  which  was  his  only  conversational 
counter.  Jean  Bonnichon,  or  "  Frenchy,"  as  we  called 
him,  was  one  of  the  firm's  traders  returning  to  the 
Islands  after  a  brief  holiday.  He,  like  Mins,  was 
short  and  thick-set,  but  with  this  ended  all  resem 
blance  between  them.  Bonnichon's  story  was  that  he 

'75 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

had  come  of  a  wealthy  family  in  Normandy ;  and  it 
was  indubitable  (from  the  papers  he  had  in  his  pos 
session)  that  he  had  served  as  an  officer  of  horse- 
artillery  in  the  French  army.  What  he  had  done  to 
leave  it  no  one  precisely  knew,  nor  was  our  curiosity 
satisfied  by  the  conflicting  explanations  he  himself 
was  at  pains  to  give.  As  a  soldier  of  fortune  in  the 
Old  World,  with  the  Turks,  the  Bulgarians,  and 
finally  with  the  Arabs  of  Sus,  he  had  sunk  lower  and 
lower,  until  he  had  come  at  last  to  Australia,  there  to 
sink  lower  still. 

Six  years  of  colonial  life,  followed  by  seven  on  the 
island  of  Apaiang,  had  transformed  Frenchy  into  one 
of  those  strange  creatures  without  a  country.  Under 
the  heel  of  adversity  the  Frenchman  had  been  com 
pletely  stamped  out  of  him;  only  some  fragments  of 
the  army  officer  remained;  the  bulging  chest,  the 
loud,  peremptory  voice,  the  instant  obedience  to  any 
one  he  counted  his  superior.  He  annoyed  Old  Bee 
excessively  by  leaping  to  his  feet  whenever  our  em 
ployer  addressed  him,  a  military  habit  so  ingrained 
that  he  was  quite  unable  to  break  himself  of  it.  In 
tended  for  deference,  its  effect  on  John  Caesar  (the 
most  fidgety  and  preoccupied  of  patriarchs)  was  to 
drive  him  into  one  of  his  sudden  tempers,  when 
woe  betide  the  man  who  dared  to  first  address  him. 
Adam  Babcock,  a  humble,  silent  creature,  completed 
the  number  of  our  mess.  He  was  the  mate  of  the 
ship,  and  took  his  meals  alone  after  we  had  quitted 
the  table,  a  forlorn  arrangement  that  is  usual  in 
small  vessels.  He  was  so  completely  null  in  our  life 

176 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

that  I  have  some  difficulty  in  recollecting  him  at  all. 
He  had  seen  misfortunes,  I  remember,  and  had  cer 
tainly  come  down  very  much  in  the  world,  for  he  was 
the  only  person  aft  who  treated  me  with  the  least 
consideration.  On  one  occasion  he  even  called  me 
"  sir,"  and  gave  me  a  present  of  some  shells. 

With  Frenchy  I  was  soon  on  terms  of  shipboard 
acquaintance,  but  for  the  others  I  might  have  been 
invisible,  for  all  they  ever  noticed  me.  Old  Bee,  for 
the  matter  of  that,  seldom  spoke  to  any  one,  and  the 
sight  of  his  bilious  cheek  would  have  daunted,  I  be 
lieve,  the  most  incorrigible  bore  in  London.  We 
saw  little  of  him  save  at  meal-times,  for  he  was  per 
petually  busy  in  his  cabin,  adding  up  figures,  or 
stamping  on  his  copying-book  like  a  dancing  dervish. 
I  am  at  a  loss  to  say  what  his  labours  were  all  about ; 
they  were,  and  always  have  been,  to  me  the  cause  of 
unceasing  amazement.  I  was  not  sorry,  however, 
that  Old  Bee  kept  so  much  to  himself,  for  I  feared 
him  like  the  plague,  and  never  felt  comfortable  within 
the  range  of  his  bloodshot  eyes.  It  fell  to  Frenchy 
and  the  captain  to  keep  the  ball  of  conversation  rolling, 
which  they  did  by  disputing  with  each  other  on  every 
topic  that  came  up.  Were  the  captain,  with  some 
warmth,  to  make  a  statement,  it  was  just  as  certain 
to  be  met  by  Frenchy's  great  horse-laugh  and  shrill, 
jeering  contradiction.  They  could  agree  on  nothing, 
whether  it  was  the  origin  of  the  Russo-Turkish  war 
or  the  way  the  natives  cook  devil-fish.  No  provoca 
tion  was  too  unimportant  to  set  them  at  each  other's 
throats,  no  slight  too  trivial  to  be  ignored. 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

Once,  to  my  extreme  embarrassment,  they  differed 
on  the  subject  of  myself  ;  the  Frenchman  saying  that 
I  was  the  type  of  young  ne'er-do-well  under  which  the 
colony  of  Queensland  was  sinking ;  while  the  captain 
just  as  vehemently  persisted  (for  the  time  being  only) 
that  it  was  such  as  I  who  had  made  the  British  Em 
pire  !  The  complimentary  view  of  Captain  Mins's 
made  very  little  practical  difference  in  his  treatment 
of  me,  which  from  the  beginning  had  been  marked 
by  coldness  and  dislike.  In  fact,  I  could  not  help 
perceiving,  for  all  their  wrangling  and  apparent  disa 
greement,  that  the  pair  were  fast  friends.  It  was  I, 
not  Frenchy,  who  was  the  outsider  on  that  ship.  In 
deed,  I  count  some  of  those  lonely  days  on  the  Belle 
Mahone  as  the  very  bitterest  part  of  my  life,  and  I 
wished  myself  at  home  a  thousand  times. 

My  only  friend  on  board  was  Lum,  the  Chinese 
cook,  whose  circumstances  were  so  akin  to  mine  that 
we  were  drawn  together  by  a  common  instinct.  He, 
too,  was  condemned  to  solitude,  having  little  in  com 
mon  with  our  crew  of  Rotumah  Islanders,  who 
shunned  him  like  a  leper;  while  I,  as  the  reader 
knows,  held  a  scarcely  better  position  among  the 
after-guard.  When  his  work  was  done,  Lum  and  I 
used  to  smoke  cigarettes  together  under  the  lee  of  a 
boat,  or,  if  it  rained,  within  the  stuffy  confines  of  his 
cabin  next  the  galley.  He  was  a  mine  of  worldly  wis 
dom,  for  there  was  nothing  he  had  not  done  or  had 
not  tried  to  do,  from  piracy  to  acting  on  the  stage; 
and  he  would  unfold  the  tale  of  his  experiences  with 
such  drollery  and  artlessness  that  his  society  was  to 

178 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

me  an  endless  entertainment.  Poor  Lum !  there  was 
little  of  the  seamy  side  of  life  he  had  not  seen,  scarcely 
a  treachery  he  had  not  endured,  in  the  years  he  had 
followed  the  sea. 

Our  first  port  was  to  be  Lascom  Island,  an  immense 
atoll  which  had  remained  uninhabited  until  Bibo  & 
Co.  took  possession  of  it  in  the  eighties.  Their 
intention  had  been  to  extend  its  few  cocoanut-palms 
into  one  vast  grove,  and  for  this  purpose  they  main 
tained  a  force  of  half  a  dozen  indentured  labourers 
from  Guadalcanar,  who  were  superintended  by  a 
white  man  named  Stocker.  It  was  for  the  purpose  of 
carrying  this  Stocker  supplies  and  inspecting  his 
year's  work  that  we  were  here  to  make  our  first  call. 

We  reached  the  island  late  at  night,  and  lay  off 
and  on  till  dawn.  The  daylight  showed  me  a  nar 
row,  bush-grown  strip  of  unending  sand,  which 
stretched  in  a  great  curve  until  lost  to  view  beneath 
the  horizon.  As  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  the 
breakers  were  thundering  against  the  huge  horseshoe 
with  a  fury  that  made  one  sick  to  hear  them.  Of  all 
forsaken  and  desolate  places  it  has  ever  been  my  lot 
to  see,  I  search  my  memory  in  vain  for  the  match  of 
Lascom  Island.  Once,  however,  that  we  had  opened 
its  channel  and  made  our  hesitating  way  into  the  la 
goon  beyond,  I  found  more  to  please  me.  Skimming 
over  the  lake-like  surface,  with  every  stitch  drawing, 
and  the  captain  in  the  crosstrees  conning  the  ship 
through  the  gleaming  dangers  that  beset  us  on  every 
hand,  it  was  indeed  an  experience  not  to  be  recalled 
without  a  thrill.  We  had  need  of  a  lynx  eye  aloft, 

179 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

for  the  lagoon  was  thick  with  coral  rocks,  and  the  chan 
nel,  besides,  was  so  tortuous  and  so  cramped  that  one 
false  turn  of  a  spoke  would  have  torn  our  bottom  out. 
I  let  myself  down  beside  the  dolphin-striker,  and  sat 
there  above  our  hissing  bows,  enjoying  as  I  did  so  an 
extraordinary  sense  of  danger  and  exhilaration.  At 
times  it  seemed  to  me  as  though  we  were  sailing 
through  air,  so  transparent  was  the  medium  through 
which  we  moved,  so  clear  the  tangled  coral  garden  that 
lay  below.  From  my  perch  I  contemplated  the  grad 
ual  unfolding  of  the  little  settlement  towards  which 
we  were  tending :  first  of  all  a  faint  blur,  which  grad 
ually  became  transformed  into  a  grove  of  cocoanuts ; 
bits  of  white  and  brown  which  resolved  themselves 
into  houses  and  sheds  ;  a  dark  patch  on  the  lagoon 
shore  that  I  made  out  to  be  a  sort  of  pier ;  then,  last  of 
all,  the  finished  picture,  in  which  there  was  nothing 
hid,  or  left  to  the  imagination  to  decipher.  There 
was  something  most  depressing  in  the  sight  of  this 
tiny  village,  with  its  faded  whitewash,  its  general  ap 
pearance  of  lifelessness  and  decay,  and  above  its  roofs 
the  palm-tops  bending  like  grass  in  the  gusty  breeze. 
Nothing  stirred  in  the  profound  shade ;  not  a  sound 
came  forth  to  greet  us  ;  and,  except  for  a  faint  haze  of 
smoke  above  one  of  the  trees,  we  might  have  thought 
the  place  abandoned.  I  remembered  that  Stocker 
was  in  likelihood  planting  cocoanuts  with  his  men, 
perhaps  miles  away  on  the  wild  sea-beach ;  in  my 
mind's  eye  I  could  see  him  pursuing  his  monotonous 
vocation,  a  miserable  Crusoe  toiling  for  a  wage.  My 
thoughts  were  still  running  in  some  such  channel 

180 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

when  I  was  suddenly  startled  by  the  apparition  of  a 
man  who  came  running  out  of  the  shadow  with  a 
bundle  in  his  arms.  It  was  a  flag,  which  he  fixed  to 
the  halyards  of  the  staff  and  slowly  ran  up.  When 
it  was  half-mast  high  he  twitched  it  loose,  displaying 
the  British  ensign  upside  down.  Then,  as  I  was  still 
gazing  at  him,  he  made  fast  the  ropes  and  hurried 
down  to  the  pier. 

Realising  that  something  must  be  wrong  on  shore, 
I  climbed  back  to  the  deck  and  hastened  to  where 
Old  Bee  and  Frenchy  were  standing  aft.  I  think  the 
former  must  have  seen  the  question  on  my  lips,  for 
he  gave  me  such  a  swift,  angry  look  that  I  dared  not 
open  my  mouth,  but  slunk  behind  Frenchy  in  silence. 
He,  the  trader,  must  have  just  endured  some  such  re 
buff  himself,  for  he  was  in  a  frightful  ill  humour,  and 
swore  at  me  when  I  tried  to  whisper  in  his  ear.  To 
learn  anything  from  Babcock  was  impossible,  for  he 
was  jumping  about  the  topgallant  forecastle,  clearing 
the  anchors  and  getting  in  the  head-sails.  When  the 
vessel  had  been  brought  to  a  standstill  near  a  rusty 
buoy,  a  boat  was  cleared  and  lowered,  and  we  all  got 
into  it  with  alacrity :  Old  Bee,  Mins,  Frenchy,  and  I, 
and  a  couple  of  hands  to  pull. 

We  were  met  at  the  pier  by  some  natives  in  sin 
glets  and  dungaree  trousers,  who  gazed  at  us  as  sol 
emnly  as  we  gazed  back  at  them.  One  grizzled  old 
fellow  was  spokesman  for  the  rest,— Joe,  they  called 
him,— and  he  told  us,  with  a  great  deal  of  writhing 
(as  though  he  had  pain  in  his  inside),  that  Stocker 
was  dead.  He  had  died  ten  days  before,  "of  some 

181 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

kind  of  sickness,"  as  Joe  called  it;  and  lest  we  had 
any  doubt  about  it,  we  were  pressed  to  walk  up  to 
Stoeker's  house  and  see  for  ourselves.  For,  fearing 
that  they  might  subsequently  be  accused  of  making 
away  with  him,  they  had  left  Stocker's  body  untouched 
in  the  bed  where  he  had  died.  The  fact  was  palpable 
enough  before  we  had  gone  a  hundred  yards  in  the 
direction  of  a  little  house,  which  from  the  distance 
looked  very  quaint  and  pretty.  But  I  forbore  to  fol 
low  the  others  any  further  in  the  investigation  they 
were  obviously  inclined  to  make,  and  I  struck  off  from 
them  to  examine  the  settlement  alone. 

I  have  good  reasons  for  thinking  that  it  had  been 
planned  originally  for  other  purposes  than  that  of 
merely  sheltering  a  gang  of  indentured  labourers.  It 
was  to  have  been  the  entrepot  or  hub  of  a  huge  South 
Sea  system,  and  from  its  central  warehouses  a  whole 
empire  of  surrounding  groups  was  to  have  been  sup 
plied.  Indeed,  the  whole  project  had  so  far  taken 
shape  that  large  sheds  had  even  been  erected  for 
the  commerce  that  was  destined  never  to  come,  arid 
commodious  houses  raised  for  the  managers  and 
clerks  whose  contracts  were  still  unwritten.  I  wan 
dered  at  will  through  those  crumbling  rooms,  some  of 
which  had  never  been  occupied,  though  they  were  now 
in  decay ;  and  along  the  grassy  street  on  which  they 
had  been  made  to  face.  I  found  a  battery  of  four 
small  cannon  covering  the  approach  from  the  pier  5  a 
dozen  ship's  tanks  filled  with  rain-water  (the  only 
kind  obtainable  on  the  island) ;  and  in  a  shuttered 
room  I  stumbled  over  a  hundred  Snyder  rifles  shining 

182 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

in  the  dark.  But  what  riveted  my  attention  most  was 
the  interior  of  a  long,  low  warehouse  full  of  wreck 
age.  Here,  in  mouldering,  unsorted  confusion,  had 
been  thrown  all  that  a  dozen  years  had  seen  salvaged 
from  the  sea :  binnacles,  hatches,  yards  and  canvas, 
old  steering-wheels,  blocks,  and  strange  tangles  of 
gear  and  junk  that  seemed  scarcely  worth  the  saving. 
Here  were  life-belts  in  the  last  stages  of  rottenness  j 
odds  and  ends  of  perished  cargoes ;  barrels  of  tallow ; 
twisted  drums  of  what  had  once  been  paint  or  var 
nish  ;  some  cuddy-chairs  of  the  folding  kind ;  and  a 
quantity  of  boards,  barnacled  and  water- worn.  I 
must  have  spent  the  better  part  of  an  hour  turning 
over  all  this  stuff,  and  in  reconstructing  in  my  mind 
the  bygone  ships  from  which  they  had  been  taken ; 
musing  on  the  fate  of  those  who  had  once  sailed  them 
so  unwisely  that  Lascom  Island  had  been  their  final 
port  and  its  bursting  seas  their  grave. 

When  at  last  I  emerged  again  into  the  open  air,  I 
perceived  with  relief  that  our  boat  still  lay  beside  the 
steps  of  the  pier,  for  I  had  no  desire  to  be  left  alone 
on  Lascom  Island  even  for  a  single  hour.  I  counted 
for  so  little  on  board  the  ship  that  I  had  a  panic  fear 
that  they  might  go  to  sea  again  without  me,  and  I  ac 
cordingly  returned  to  the  seamen  who  were  smoking 
under  the  lee  of  a  palm.  We  waited  there  a  long  time 
before  we  were  aroused  by  the  sound  of  voices  and 
the  sight  of  Old  Bee  and  Frenchy  walking  slowly 
towards  us.  The  old  rogue  looked  pale  and  agi 
tated  ;  he  had  his  arm  through  Frenchy's,  and  was 
speaking  to  him  with  intense  seriousness  and  a  volu- 

183 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

bility  quite  unusual.  He  seemed  pleading  with  the 
trader,  urging  him  apparently  to  something  distaste 
ful,  something  that  was  perpetually  negatived  by 
Frenchy's  bullet-head  and  his  reiterated  "No,  sare; 
no,  sare  ;  it  is  eempossible." 

"  I  '11  make  it  seventy-five  a  month,"  quavered  Bibo, 
"and  all  found." 

Again  the  Frenchman  shook  his  head. 

"Ask  anysing  else,  sare,"  he  said;  "but  this,  oh, 
no.  But  why  not  the  boy  ?  "  he  added. 

"  That  young  ass  !  "  cried  Old  Bee. 

"  I  won't  stay  here  alone,  if  that 's  what  you  mean," 
said  Frenchy.  "  But  if  you  '11  run  down  to  Treachery 
Island  and  let  me  get  a  girl  there,  I  tell  you,  sare,  I 
will  do  it  for  the  seventy-five.  But  alone?  Good 
Lord !  I  'd  follow  Stocker  in  ze  mont'." 

Bibo  groaned  aloud.  "  It  '11  take  a  day  and  a  half 
to  run  down  there,  and  all  of  three  to  beat  back,"  he 
said ;  "  and  you  might  be  a  week  getting  a  girl." 

Frenchy  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Old  Tom  Bye- 
gate  's  there,"  he  said.  "  He  '11  do  ze  thing  quick 
enough  if  I  make  it  worth  his  while.  They  say,  too, 
that  he  's  in  with  the  Samoan  pastor  there,  Jimmy 
Upolu.  Brice  of  the  Wandering  Minstrel  told  me 
he  was  at  Treachery  three  years  ago,  and  picked  up 
ze  prettiest  woman  in  the  island  for  sixteen  pounds. 
Told  me  he  gave  four  pounds  to  Tom,  four  to  ze 
pastor,  and  the  rest  to  ze  woman's  folks  in  trade.  He 
was  in  such  a  damned  rush  he  could  n't  wait  to 
cheapen  things— just  paid  his  money  and  went.  But 
she  was  a  tearing  fine  piece,  he  said." 

184 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

Old  Bee  hardly  seemed  to  listen  to  him.  "I  sup 
pose  you  don't  care,"  he  said  bitterly,  "  but  this  busi 
ness  is  going  to  put  me  two  weeks  behind  and  maybe 
lose  me  the  shell  at  Big  Muggin.  Of  all  cursed  luck, 
who  ever  had  the  match  of  it?  First  to  last,  this 
island  has  been  a  millstone  round  my  neck,  one  ever 
lasting  drain  and  bother.  What  with  the  rats,  and 
Charley  Sansome's  D.  T.'s,  and  the  lawsuit  with  Pop- 
penheifer,  and  this  business  of  Stocker's,  I  tell  you, 
Frenchy,  I  'm  clean  sick  of  it.  It  's  just  money, 
money,  money  all  the  time,  and  I  don't  believe  I  've 
ever  made  enough  out  of  it  to  buy  me  a  suit  of 
clothes ! " 

He  stopped  speaking  when  he  caught  sight  of  me, 
and  stepped  down  into  the  boat  without  another  word. 
Frenchy,  too,  said  nothing  as  we  pulled  back  to  the 
ship,  but  chewed  at  his  mustache  in  a  moody,  impa 
tient  way.  But  once  on  board,  the  captain  was  called 
below,  and  an  animated  discussion  ensued  in  the 
main  cabin.  Through  the  open  skylight  I  could  not 
forbear  overhearing  a  little  of  what  was  said,  and  I 
gathered  that  Mins  was  joining  with  his  employer  in 
trying  to  persuade  Frenchy  to  remain  on  the  island 
in  Stocker's  place.  At  least,  I  caught  Frenchy's  ex 
plosive  remonstrances,  and  half -jeering,  half-angry 
efforts  to  extricate  himself  from  their  snares.  Ap 
parently  he  succeeded  only  too  well,  for  Old  Bee, 
somewhat  half-heartedly,  at  last  proposed  Babcock's 
name.  At  this  the  captain  himself  was  up  in  arms. 
Was  n't  he  doing  with  one  white  mate  when  he  ought 
by  rights  to  have  two  ?  Nothing  would  induce  him, 

185 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

he  said,  to  surrender  Babcock  j  nor  would  he,  in  such 
a  case,  answer  for  the  safety  of  the  ship,  nor  for  the 
insurance  were  she  lost.  Then  he  turned  the  tables 
completely  by  proposing  that  Old  Bee  himself  should 
stop  on  the  island !  This  was  received  by  Frenchy 
with  a  roar  of  laughter  and  a  blow  of  his  fist  that 
shook  the  cabin.  Old  Bee  did  not  take  it  with  the 
same  good  humour,  but  broke  out  furiously  that  he 
might  as  well  throw  up  the  cruise  at  once.  Mine,  of 
course,  was  the  next  name  to  come  up,  and  Frenchy 
was  sent  to  bring  me  before  the  meeting.  I  am 
ashamed  to  think  what  a  fool  they  must  have  thought 
me,  for  instead  of  offering  me  the  seventy-five  dollars 
a  month— not  that  I  would  have  taken  the  job  for  a 
million— Old  Bee  held  out  the  inducement  of  ten  a 
week.  From  the  manner  in  which  he  spoke  to  me, 
and  the  bullying  tone  of  his  voice,  it  was  not  easy  to 
gather  whether  I  was  asked  or  ordered  to  go  ashore 
in  Stocker's  shoes ;  and  it  is  my  belief  that  if  I  had 
knuckled  down  in  the  slightest  he  would  have 
dropped  the  first  formula  altogether.  But  I  had 
overheard  too  much  to  be  taken  at  a  disadvantage. 
Besides,  I  shrank  from  the  proposal  with  every  fibre 
in  my  body,  and  was  determined  not  to  be  put  ashore 
except  by  force.  My  repulsion  was  so  unconcealed ; 
and  it  was  so  plain  that  I  could  be  neither  threatened 
nor  cajoled ;  that  more  than  once  Frenchy  burst  out 
with  his  great  laugh,  and  even  Mins  smiled  sourly  at 
my  vehemence.  Old  Bee  did  not  long  persist  in  the 
attempt  to  override  my  resolution;  he  had  always 
taken  an  unflattering  view  of  my  capabilities,  and 

186 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

even  as  a  planter  of  cocoanuts  I  had  perhaps  excited 
his  distrust.  Besides,  I  would  not  do  it.  There  was 
no  getting  over  that ! 

I  was  thankful  at  last  to  be  dismissed,  even  at  the 
price  of  a  stinging  word  or  two.  What  were  words 
in  comparison  with  a  year  on  Lascom  Island !  I 
went  and  locked  myself  in  my  cabin,  and  blocked  the 
door  of  it  with  my  trunk,  so  fearful  was  I  that  I 
might  in  some  way  be  tricked  or  dragged  ashore.  I 
dared  not  emerge  until  long  after  the  anchor  had  been 
weighed  and  the  sails  set,  and  even  then  I  came  out 
of  my  room  with  the  utmost  caution.  When  I  reached 
the  deck,  the  settlement  was  already  far  astern  and 
the  ship  heading  through  the  western  passage  for 
the  sea.  Lum  told  me  that  we  were  running  down 
to  Treachery  Island,  and  gave  me  some  hot  bread 
and  tea  in  the  galley  in  place  of  the  lunch  I  had 
lost. 

I  had  read  of  South  Sea  paradises,  but  at  Treachery 
Island  I  was  soon  to  see  one  for  myself.  After  the 
desolate  immensity  of  Lascom,  it  was  delightful  to 
reach  this  tiny  isle,  with  its  lagoon  no  bigger  than 
the  Serpentine  and  its  general  appearance  of  fer 
tility  and  life.  As  we  ran  close  along  its  wooded 
shores,  and  saw  the  beehive  houses  in  the  shade,  and 
the  people  running  out  to  wave  a  greeting  to  our 
passing  ship ;  as  we  saw  the  drawn-up  boats,  the  lit 
tle  coral  churches,  and  the  shimmering  lagoon  beyond, 
on  which  there  was  many  a  white  sail  dancing,  I 
thought  I  had  never  in  all  my  life  imagined  any  place 
more  beautiful.  Nor  did  I  think  to  change  my  mind 

187 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

when  we  hove  to  off  a  glorious  beach,  and  dropped 
the  ladder  for  a  score  of  smiling  islanders  to  swarm 
aboard.  I  loved  the  sight  of  their  kindly  faces  after 
the  sullen  looks  that  had  so  long  been  my  portion  j 
and  my  heart  warmed  towards  them  as  it  might  to 
some  old  and  half -forgotten  friends. 

When  a  boat  was  lowered,  I  kept  close  at  the  heels 
of  Old  Bee,  Frenchy,  and  the  captain  as  they  descended 
and  took  their  places ;  and  I  followed  their  example 
with  so  much  assurance  that  it  never  occurred  to  any 
one  to  say  me  nay.  The  captain  swore  at  me  for 
jumping  on  his  foot,  but  that  was  all  the  attention  I 
received.  Frenchy  was  the  hero  of  the  hour,  and  his 
gay  sash  and  tie  and  spotless  ducks  were  the  occasion 
of  many  pleasantries  at  his  expense.  Even  Old  Bee 
condescended  to  tease  our  beau  on  the  subject  of  the 
future  Mrs.  Frenchy;  and  at  the  home  thrusts  and 
innuendoes  (not  all  of  which  I  could  understand)  the 
captain's  red  face  deepened  into  purple  as  he  shook 
with  laughter  and  slapped  his  friend  upon  the  back. 
Frenchy  pretended  not  to  like  it,  and  gave  tit  for  tat 
in  good  earnest  j  but  it  was  evident  that  he  was  prodi 
giously  pleased  with  himself  and  the  others.  With 
his  chest  thrown  out,  his  black  brush  of  a  mustache 
waxed  to  a  point,  and  his  military,  dandified  air, 
Frenchy  seemed  more  low,  more  indefinably  offensive, 
wicked,  and  dangerous  than  he  had  ever  appeared  to 
me  before. 

Every  one  was  in  a  high  good  humour  when  we 
reached  the  beach,  where  special  precautions  had  to 
be  taken  in  order  to  spare  Frenchy's  finery  the  least 

18.8 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

contamination ;  and  we  were  soon  walking  up  together 
through  a  crowd  of  islanders  to  the  trader's  house. 
Tom  Ryegate  was  there  to  meet  us,  a  benignant-look 
ing  old  man  with  a  plenitude  of  grey  hair,  a  watery 
blue  eye,  and  a  telltale  tremor  of  his  hands.  A  closer 
inspection  revealed  the  fact  that  Tom  Ryegate  was 
soaked  and  pickled  in  gin,  a  circumstance  which  per 
haps  accounted  for  the  depressing  views  he  took  of 
life  and  for  his  somewhat  snarling  mode  of  address. 
When  the  news  had  been  passed,  and  Stocker's  demise 
talked  over,  with  some  very  unedifying  reminiscences 
of  the  deceased's  peculiarities,  the  conversation  was 
brought  gently  round  to  the  business  in  hand. 

But  on  the  subject  of  girls  Tom  Ryegate  was  a 
broken  reed.  We  might  be  able  to  pick  up  a  likely 
young  woman,  or  we  might  not.  "  It  all  depended," 
he  said,  without  adding  on  what.  The  fack  was  that 
things  was  n't  as  they  used  to  be  on  Treachery ;  the 
niggars  had  lost  all  respeck  for  whites ;  it  was  money 
they  cared  for  now,  nothing  but  money.  It  made  old 
Tom  Ryegate  sick  to  think  of  it ;  it  was  all  this  mis 
sionary  coddling  and  putting  ideas  into  their  heads. 
Why,  he  remembered  the  day  when  you  could  buy  a 
ton  of  shell  for  a  trade  gun  ;  when  a  white  man  knew 
no  law  but  what  seemed  good  to  him.  But  it  was  all 
changed  now;  them  days  was  passed  for  ever;  the 
niggars  had  no  more  respeck  for  whites :  it  was  all 
money,  all  money. 

This  dreary  and  unsatisfactory  monologue  was  the 
preface  to  a  recital  of  all  his  recent  troubles.  Mrs. 
Captain  Saxe  had  been  kind  enough  to  bring  him 

i8g 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

back  his  daughter  Elsie.  Captain  Mins  would  re 
member  his  little  Elsie  ?  No  ?  Well,  it  did  n't  much 
matter ;  howsomever,  as  he  was  saying,  she  had  been 
educated  in  the  convent  at  Port  Darwin— for  an  isl 
and  girl  there  was  no  better  place  than  a  convent 
(here  7s  luck,  gentlemen).  She  was  sixteen,  and  that 
pretty  and  nice-behaved  that  he  almost  cried  when  he 
saw  her!  And  white?  Why,  you  could  n't  have 
told  she  was  a  quarter-earste,  she  was  that  white.  At 
first  they  had  got  along  together  very  nicely,  for  she 
was  no  slouch  of  a  girl,  and  could  cook  and  sew,  and 
play  her  little  piece  on  the  zither  in  the  evening,  and 
sing !  Sing  f  Why,  you  just  orter  hear  that  girl 
sing !  And  to  see  her  kneel  down  at  night  and  pray 
in  her  little  shimmy,  it  made  him  feel  what  a  bad  old 
feller  he  was— by  God,  it  did— and  so  far  to  leeward 
of  everything  decent  and  right.  Well,  well,  it  went 
along  so  far  nigh  six  months  (drink  hearty,  gentle 
men  j  Mr.  Bibo,  sir,  here  7s  my  respecks),  and  he  had 
no  more  thought  of  what  was  a-coming  than  a  babe 
unborn. 

There  was  a  half-carste  here  named  Ned  Forrest, 
who  did  a  little  boat-building  and  traded  a  bit  besides. 
Not  a  bad  chap  for  a  half-carste,  only  he  fancied  him 
self  overmuch,  and  thought  because  he  could  read 
and  drink  square-face  that  he  was  as  good  as  any 
white  man.  It  made  him  sick,  the  airs  that  feller  put 
on  at  times.  Imagine  his  feelings,  then,  when  this 
Forrest  up  and  asked  him  one  day  for  permission  to 
marry  Elsie,  and  said  a  lot  of  rot  about  their  being  in 
love  with  each  other !  Just  animalism,  that  7s  what 

190 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

he  called  it.  His  Elsie,  who  had  been  bred  up  a  lady 
in  Port  Darwin !  Had  n't  he  said  that  the  niggars 
were  losing  all  respeck  for  whites?  He  booted  the 
swine  off  his  verandah,  that  's  what  he  did,  and  he 
gave  Elsie  such  a  talking  to  that  she  cried  for  three 
days  afterwards.  He  thought  she  had  had  a  passing 
fancy  for  the  swine,  but  he  bade  her  remember  her 
self -respeck  and  just  let  out  a  few  things  about  the 
feller  to  put  her  on  her  guard  like.  But  though  she 
promised  to  give  him  up,  she  took  it  kind  of  hard. 
He  used  often  to  find  her  crying  and  moping  about 
the  house,  and,  like  a  fool,  had  thought  little  of  it. 
He  did  think  enough  of  it,  however,  to  go  to  Jimmy 
Upolu— that  's  the  Summoan  native  pastor  here— to 
forbid  him  to  marry  the  pair  if  they  had  in  mind  any 
hanky-panky  tricks. 

By  God,  it  was  well  he  did  so,  for  what  was  his  sur 
prise  to  find  that  Forrest  had  been  trjdng  to  get 
round  the  pastor  for  that  very  purpose— mending  his 
boat,  stepping  a  new  mast  in  it,  and  lending  a  hand 
generally  with  the  church  repairs.  The  pastor  was  a 
crafty  customer  and  had  a  considerable  eye  for  the 
main  chance,  but  he  was  a  sight  too  far  in  Tom's 
debt  to  go  against  him.  Tom  had  only  to  raise  his 
hand  and  Jimmy  was  as  good  as  bounced  off  the  isl 
and,  for  Jimmy  's  no  pay,  and  a  complaint  at  head 
quarters  would  settle  his  hash.  So  he  did  n't  mince 
matters  with  Jimmy,  but  told  him  flat  out  that  there 
must  be  no  marrying  Elsie  on  the  sly. 

That  done,  he  gave  the  girl  another  dressing  down. 
Pity  he  had  n't  thrashed  her,  like  he  had  often  done 

191 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

her  ma,  but  it  was  n't  in  flesh  and  blood  to  lash  your 
own  daughter.  So  he  let  it  go  at  that,  and  arranged 
with  Peter,  the  king,  to  run  up  some  kind  of  a 
charge  against  Ned  Forrest,  so  that  the  next  man-of- 
war  might  deport  him.  Luckily  Ned  was  a  British 
subject,  and  it  would  have  been  strange  if  the  navy 
captain  woul'd  n't  have  taken  the  word  of  a  responsi 
ble  white  merchant,  not  to  speak  of  the  king's  and 
the  missionary's,  against  a  dirty  swine  of  a  half- 
carste.  Howsomever,  no  man-of-war  came,— they 
never  do  when  they  ?re  wanted,— and  things  went  on 
from  bad  to  worse. 

One  morning  he  awoke  to  find  that  Elsie  had 
skipped  out.  Yes,  by  God,  gone  with  the  half-carste  ! 
At  first  he  could  n't  believe  it  j  but  when  he  went  off 
in  a  tearing  rage  to  see  the  pastor,  he  found  a  crowd 
gathered  round  the  church  door,  all  chattering  at 
once,  like  niggars  do.  They  made  way  for  him,  and 
what  do  you  think  he  saw  on  that  door,  so  help  him  ? 
A  regular  proclamation  in  English  and  native,  saying 
as  how  Elsie  Ryegate  and  Edward  George  Forrest  had 
taken  each  other  for  husband  and  wife,  for  better  or 
worse,  for  sickness  or  sorrow,  until  death  should  them 
part,  and  a  lot  of  stuff  besides  about  the  pastor  and 
the  king  both  refusing  to  perform  the  marriage  cere 
mony.  It  was  well  written,  that  he  would  allow, 
though  it  made  him  wild  to  read  it.  He  tore  it  down 
and  put  it  into  his  pocket  for  evidence,  and  went  on 
to  see  Jimmy  Upolu.  Jimmy  was  in  fits  too,  for  if 
people  got  to  marrying  one  another  in  that  church- 
door  way,  what  would  become  of  Jimmy's  fees  ? 

IQ2 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

But  though  Jimmy  could  talk,  he  was  n't  much  of 
a  hand  to  do  things.  What  missionary  niggar  is? 
He  would  n't  hear  of  no  trial,  let  alone  a  little  idea 
with  a  stick  of  dynamite.  He  could  think  of  nothing 
better  than  excommunication  and  talking  at  him 
from  the  pulpit— a  fat  lot  he  'd  care  for  either,  would 
Forrest !  It  seemed  nothing  could  be  done,  for  with 
out  the  pastor  and  the  king  where  would  be  the  use  ? 
A  man  had  to  be  keerf ul  these  days :  the  natives  were 
losing  all  respeck  for  whites,  and  them  men-of-war 
fellers  were  as  likely  to  take  a  niggar's  word  as  his 
own.  Was  n't  it  sickening !  Well,  so  it  all  ended  in 
smoke,  and  Elsie  and  Ned  set  up  housekeeping  to 
gether.  He  had  never  clapped  eyes  on  her  but  once, 
when  she  threw  herself  on  her  knees  before  him,  right 
there  in  the  dirt,  and  said  she  'd  die  if  he  would  n't 
forgive  her,  and  please,  would  n't  he  let  the  pastor 
marry  her  and  Ned?  It  was  a  tight  place  for  a  fa 
ther—a  father  as  doted  on  that  girl.  But  a  filthy  half- 
carste !  Who  could  stomach  such  a  swine  for  his 
daughter  ?  He  told  her  he  'd  rather  see  her  stretched 
dead  at  his  feet  j  that 's  what  he  said,  just  like  that, 
and  walked  on.  It  was  hard,  but  a  man  must  do  his 
dooty.  That  was  the  last  he  had  seen  of  her— the  last 
he  wished  to  see  of  her  till  she  'd  quit  that  feller.  If 
she  'd  do  that,  his  poor,  dishonoured  girl,  she  'd  never 
find  her  father's  door  closed  against  her  5  no,  by  God, 
it  stood  open  for  her  night  and  day. 

I  had  become  pretty  tired  of  the  old  man  and  his 
daughter  long  before  he  had  reached  the  conclusion 
of  his  tale ;  but  the  others  listened  readily  enough,  and 

»93 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

seemed  genuinely  to  commiserate  him.  Captain  Mins 
remarked  in  his  slow,  deliberate  tones,  that  wherever 
you  went,  half-castes  were  the  same— all  swine.  And 
Old  Bee  said  that  he  'd  see  that  the  matter  was  prop 
erly  represented  to  the  next  man-of-war  that  came 
down  that  way.  Frenchy  went  further  and  asked  a 
whole  raft  of  questions ;  about  the  girl ;  about  Forrest ; 
about  the  island  generally.  What  sort  of  man  might 
the  king  be  ?  Oh,  Peter  was  all  right,  was  he  ?  Was 
this  Forrest  a  stranger,  or  had  he  been  born  on  the 
island?  A  stranger.  Well,  he  could  n't  have  much 
of  a  poosh  then — not  many  liowtubs  to  back  him  up 
in  case  of  a  row?  And  the  missionary  niggar  was 
square,  was  he  ?  Old  Tom  had  n't  any  picture  of  that 
there  girl,  had  he  ?  So  this  did  n't  do  her  justice,  eh  1 
Why,  she  was  a  perfect  leetle  beauty.  Frenchy  held 
the  photograph  a  long  time  in  his  hand,  studying  it 
with  close  attention  as  he  puffed  at  his  cigarette.  Fi 
nally  tossing  it  to  one  side,  he  looked  earnestly  at  the 
floor,  and  drummed  in  an  undecided  way  with  one  foot. 
Then  he  stretched  out  his  arms  and  gave  a  great  yawn. 

"Let's  me  and  you  go  for  a  promenade,  sonny,"  he 
said,  addressing  me.  "  We  don't  want  to  sit  here  all 
ze  day,  do  we?" 

Once  in  the  open  air,  however,  his  desire  to  walk 
seemed  to  vanish,  for  he  began  to  ask  for  Ned  For 
rest's  store,  and  offered  a  stick  of  tobacco  to  any 
one  that  could  guide  us  there.  Pretty  well  the  whole 
village  did  that,  and  we  were  conducted  in  state  to  a 
wooden  house  near  the  lagoon,  about  a  mile  distant 
from  the  spot  where  we  had  first  landed.  Frenchy 

194 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

stood  on  no  ceremony  on  going  in,  and  I  followed  close 
behind  him,  much  less  at  my  ease  than  my  companion. 
It  was  dark  within  the  house,  and  the  hum  of  a  sew 
ing-machine  covered  our  approach ;  it  was  a  minute 
or  two  before  we  were  discovered  by  the  young  girl 
we  dimly  saw  at  work,  who  sprang  up  at  last,  with  a 
little  cry,  and  came  towards  us. 

Frenchy  became  suavity  itself:  begged  Mrs.  For 
rest's  pardon  for  our  intrusion,  but  it  was  eempossible 
to  reseest  the  pleasure  of  calling  upon  a  white  lady. 
Might  he  have  ze  honour  of  acquainting  her  with  hees 
friend,  Mr.  Bence? 

The  young  lady,  though  somewhat  fluttered  by  our 
unexpected  visit,  betrayed  no  more  than  natural  em 
barrassment.  She  begged  us  to  be  seated,  inquired  the 
name  of  our  vessel,  and  acquitted  herself  with  an  ease 
and  self-possession  that  few  young  white  women 
could  have  rivalled.  It  was  we,  indeed,  Frenchy  and 
I,  who  completely  lost  our  heads  j  for  Tom  Ryegate's 
daughter  was  of  such  a  captivating  prettiness,  and  her 
manners  were  at  once  so  gentle,  arch,  and  engaging, 
that  we  could  hardly  forbear  staring  her  out  of  coun 
tenance,  or  restrain  our  admiration  within  the  bounds 
of  ordinary  politeness.  She  was  no  darker  than  a 
Spaniard,  with  sparkling  eyes,  and  the  most  glorious 
black  hair  in  the  world.  Her  girlish  figure  was  not 
too  well  concealed  by  the  flimsy  cotton  dress  in  which 
we  had  surprised  her,  and  it  failed  to  hide  altogether 
her  rich  young  beauty.  From  the  top  of  her  curly 
head  to  the  little  naked  feet  she  kept  so  anxiously 
beneath  her  gown,  there  was  not  one  feature  to  mar 

195 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

the  rest,  not  a  curve  nor  a  dimple  that  one  would 
have  wished  to  change.  I  cannot  recall  much  of  what 
we  talked  about,  though  the  picture  of  her  there  in 
that  dark  room  is  as  vivid  a  memory  as  any  I  have. 
We  drank  fresh  cocoanuts,  I  remember;  listened  to 
a  cheap  music-box;  and  looked  at  the  photographs 
in  an  album.  With  the  practical  gallantry  of  the 
Islands,  Frenchy  begged  her  to  ask  for  any  favour 
that  we  had  it  in  our  power  to  grant.  The  whole  ship, 
he  said,  was  at  her  deesposal.  Was  she  sure  that  she 
needed  nozing  ?  Some  ear-rings  ?  A  bolt  of  silk  ?  A 
really  nice  beet  of  lace  he  had  intended  for  the  queen 
of  Big  Muggin  ? 

But  she  would  accept  nothing.  You  see,  her  hus 
band  did  not  like  her  to  take  presents  from  white 
gentlemen.  The  supercargo  of  the  Lancashire  Lass 
had  given  her  two  pairs  of  shoes,  and  some  goldfish 
in  a  bottle,  but  Ned  was  much  displeased.  Ned  said 
that  people  would  talk  and  take  away  her  character ; 
besides,  it  was  n't  for  poor  folks  to  have  shoes  and 
goldfish.  Ned  was  a  very  proud  man  and  did  not  pre 
tend  to  be  what  he  was  not.  She  was  still  speaking 
when  Ned  himself  unexpectedly  appeared  at  another 
door.  Amid  laughing  explanations,  we  were  made 
acquainted  with  the  head  of  the  house,  a  big,  shy  half- 
caste,  who  welcomed  us  with  a  tremendous  hand-shake 
apiece.  He  was  a  powerful  young  man,  and  his  mus 
cular  throat  and  arms  were  still  grimy  with  the  black- 
smithing  at  which  he  had  been  engaged.  I  liked  his 
unshrinking,  honest  look,  and  as  he  turned  his  eyes 
on  his  beautiful  wife  there  was  in  them  something  of 

196 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

the  tenderness  and  devotion  of  a  dog's.  Elsie  ordered 
the  great  fellow  about  with  a  pretty  imperiousness 
that  only  lovers  use,  and  with  a  peculiar  softness  of 
intonation  that  did  not  escape  me.  It  made  me  a  little 
envious  and  heartsick  to  see  this  happiness  in  which 
I  could  have  no  share,  and  I  was  almost  glad  at  last 
when  Frenchy  rose  to  go.  Lifting  her  little  hand  to  his 
lips,  he  begged  her  to  please  count  him  her  friend  and 
serviteur  to  command,  and  regretted  that  the  prees- 
sure  of  affairs  would  preclude  him  from  calling  again 
before  the  ship  sailed.  He  had  been  so  assiduous  in 
his  attentions  to  the  young  beauty  that  I  was  at  a  loss 
to  understand  this  sudden  renunciation ;  but  I  put  it 
down  to  his  common  sense,  which  must  have  told  him 
that  in  this  quarter  his  gallantry  could  only  be  wasted. 
Any  one  could  see  that  our  pretty  quarter-caste  was 
head  over  heels  in  love  with  her  own  husband ;  and 
however  much  she  might  laugh  and  talk  with  strangers, 
and  enjoy  the  impression  her  starry  eyes  indubitably 
produced,  her  heart,  at  least,  was  in  no  uncertain 
keeping.  It  was  just  as  much  Ned  Forrest's  as  the 
clothes  upon  her  back  or  the  house  in  which  she  lived. 
How  I  envied  him  his  prize  as  Frenchy  and  I  walked 
back  silently  towards  old  Tom's,  and  saw  the  bark's 
sails  shining  through  the  trees.  I  tried  to  say  some 
thing  about  the  charming  girl  we  had  left,  but  Frenchy 
hardly  seemed  to  listen.  For  a  long  time  he  contin 
ued  in  a  deep  study,  puffing  hard  at  his  cigarette,  and 
looking,  as  it  appeared  to  me,  more  than  usually 
reckless  and  devil-may-care.  We  found  the  others 
exactly  where  we  had  left  them,— though  not  perhaps 

197 


Frenchy' s  Last  Job 

so  sober,— and  they  haled  Frenchy  in  and  bade  him 
report  himself,  the  square-face  meanwhile  making 
another  round. 

"What  news  of  thy  quest,  O  illustrious  horse-sol 
dier  ?  "  demanded  the  captain,  in  his  usual  thick,  loud 
voice — a  little  louder  and  a  little  thicker  for  the  gin. 
"  Hast  thou  found  a  damsel  to  thy  taste  on  this  thy 
servant's  isle?" 

"Heinf"  said  Frenchy,  with  a  queer  glance  at 
me. 

"  You  must  do  something/'  said  Old  Bee,  "  and  do 
that  something  soon,  Frenchy  my  Bo,  for  I  can't  stay 
here  for  ever  at  seven  pound  a  day  !  " 

"  Here 's  luck !  "  said  the  gentleman  thus  addressed, 
raising  his  eyebrows  significantly  over  his  glass. 
There  must  have  been  further  interchange  of  signals, 
for  Bibo  turned  to  me  and  in  a  very  kind  and  natter 
ing  way  requested  me  to  go  back  to  the  ship.  The 
fact  was,  he  said,  that  it  was  not  right  to  leave  her  al 
together  to  Babcock,  and  it  would  go  far  to  lessen  his 
own  anxiety  if  there  were  another  white  man  on  board. 
I  ought  to  know  pretty  well  by  this  time  what  Kana 
kas  were  like,  he  continued,  and  how  little  the  crew 
would  care  if  they  laid  the  bark  ashore  or  drowned 
her  in  a  squall.  He  put  it  to  me,  he  said,  as  a  personal 
favour  to  himself.  To  such  a  request  I  could,  of 
course,  make  but  one  answer,  though  it  went  sorely 
against  the  grain  for  me  to  return  again  on  board ;  the 
more  especially  when  I  found  the  reliable  Babcock 
snoring  on  a  hatch.  I  had  only  to  look  from  him  to 
the  boatswain's  leathery,  watchful  face  to  realise  how 

198 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

completely  I  had  been  tricked.  The  ship  was  as  safe 
under  Johnny's  care  as  she  would  have  been  in  Bris 
bane  harbour,  and  I  could  see  that  he  was  handling  her 
with  the  most  admirable  skill.  My  only  complaint 
was  that  he  acquitted  himself  far  too  well,  for  in  the 
humour  that  then  possessed  me  I  would  gladly  have 
seen  him  pile  her  on  the  reef. 

It  was  hot  on  board,  and  the  day  seemed  endless, 
so  slowly  did  the  hours  drag  on.  Three  or  four  times 
the  boat  came  off  from  shore  and  returned  again.  At 
one  time  it  brought  out  old  Tom  Ryegate,  together 
with  our  whole  party,  who  at  once  went  below.  After 
wards  they  sent  the  steward  up  for  Johnny  and  two  or 
three  of  the  hands  to  come  down.  I  felt  too  sulky 
and  ill  used  to  pay  much  attention  to  all  this  coming 
and  going,  though  in  the  bottom  of  my  heart  I  could 
not  resist  a  certain  pang  of  curiosity.  I  doubted  not 
that  my  companions  were  up  to  some  mischief,  the 
nature  of  which  I  was  at  °  loss  to  understand ;  but 
the  way  they  put  their  heads  together  was  enough  to 
inspire  me  with  alarm ;  and  I  did  not  like  at  all  this 
calling  in  of  the  crew.  I  tried  to  sound  Johnny  after 
they  had  pulled  back  to  the  settlement,  but  he  turned 
a  deaf  ear  to  me  and  pretended  not  to  understand  my 
questions.  I  tried  Lum  with  like  ill  success,  finding 
him  also  (though  from  a  different  reason)  cross  and 
uncommunicative. 

"  White  man  all  same  devil/'  he  said,  and  went  on 
kneading  his  dough. 

Supper-time  came,  and  Babcock  and  I  had  the  table 
to  ourselves ;  he  was  very  garrulous  and  tiresome,  and 

*99 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

I  suspect  he  had  been  nipping  on  the  sly,  for  he  gig 
gled  a  lot,  and  sometimes  talked  foolishly  to  himself. 
Altogether  I  was  sick  of  the  ship  and  of  Babcock  and 
of  my  own  company ;  and  when  I  came  on  deck  after 
supper,  and  saw  the  shore  lights  twinkling  through 
the  palms,  and  the  torches  of  the  fishers  on  the  roof, 
I  felt  I  could  no  longer  control  my  impatience. 

Slipping  down  the  gangway,  I  signalled  to  one  of 
the  canoes  that  hung  about  the  ship,  and  a  few  min 
utes  later  I  was  landed  for  the  second  time  near  old 
Tom  Ryegate's  store.  Needless  to  say,  I  gave  it  a  wide 
berth,  for  the  last  thing  I  wished  was  to  run  across 
any  of  my  shipmates.  I  was  spied  out  by  some  little 
children  playing  tag  in  the  dark,  who  took  me  by  the 
hands  and  led  me  about  the  settlement.  I  was  con 
ducted  into  half  a  dozen  houses,  and  given  green  nuts 
to  drink,  with  here  and  there  a  present  of  a  hat  or  a 
mat  or  some  pearl-shells.  I  do  not  know  how  long  I 
had  been  wandering  about  in  this  fashion — but  it 
must  have  been  nearer  two  hours  than  one— when 
I  was  suddenly  startled  by  a  roar  of  voices  and  a 
sound  of  scurrying  feet.  In  an  instant  we  were  all 
rushing  in  the  direction  of  the  noise,  falling  and 
stumbling  over  one  another  in  our  excitement.  At 
the  church  I  found  a  crowd  assembled,  buzzing  like 
bees,  and  crushing  frantically  against  the  unglazed 
windows  for  a  sight  of  what  was  taking  place  within. 
I  jostled  my  way  round  to  the  door,  where  I  was  sur 
prised  to  find  our  brawny  boatswain  Johnny,  together 
with  several  of  our  men,  keeping  the  other  natives 
at  bay.  They  would  have  kept  me  out,  too,  if  they 

200 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

had  dared,  but  I  pushed  boldly  past  them  and  entered 
the  building. 

It  was  all  but  empty.  At  the  farther  end,  by  the 
light  of  a  tawdry  hanging  lamp,  I  perceived  that  some 
sort  of  service  or  ceremony  was  in  progress,  and  I  was 
thunderstruck  to  recognise  in  the  little  congregation 
there  assembled  every  member  of  the  shore  party. 
Old  Bee  and  the  captain  were  standing  on  one  side, 
the  latter  smoking  a  cigar  and  spitting  from  time  to 
time  on  the  coral  floor ;  next  them,  his  benignant  hair 
all  awry,  was  Tom  Ryegate,  leaning  unsteadily  against 
the  wall,  and  wiping  his  eyes  on  a  trade  handkerchief. 
A  burly  Kanaka  whom  I  had  no  difficulty  in  recog 
nising  as  Jimmy  Upolu,  the  native  pastor,  was  recit 
ing  something  out  of  a  book  over  the  heads  of  Frenchy 
and  a  woman,  who  both  knelt  before  him.  Frenchy's 
costume  had  suffered  not  a  little  since  the  morning  j 
it  was  dirty  and  stained,  and  the  collar  of  his  coat  was 
torn  half-way  down  his  back,  as  though  some  one  had 
seized  him  there  with  a  smutty  hand.  In  an  instant 
I  seemed  to  see  the  whole  thing.  I  ran  forward  with 
my  heart  in  my  mouth,  and  even  as  I  did  so  there 
rose  from  the  outside  the  strangled  cry  of  a  man,  fol 
lowed  by  a  scuffle  and  the  noise  of  blows. 

The  woman  beside  Frenchy  sprang  to  her  feet,  and 
as  she  turned  towards  me  I  recognised  the  ashen  face 
of  Elsie  Ryegate.  Frenchy  caught  her  in  his  arms, 
and  swearing  beneath  his  breath,  forced  her  down 
again  beside  him ;  while  the  pastor,  not  a  whit  abashed, 
rattled  on  briskly  with  the  service. 

He  soon  came  to  an  end,  closing  his  book  with  a 

2OI 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

flourish,  as  much  as  to  say  the  ceremony  was  over. 
Frenchy  rose  to  his  feet,  still  with  one  arm  round 
Elsie's  waist. 

"How  much?"  he  asked. 

Then  old  Tom  Ryegate  came  staggering  up,  boo- 
hooing  like  a  great  baby.  He  wrung  Frenchy's  hand ; 
gave  his  daughter  a  slobbering  kiss ;  and  broke  out 
into  a  whole  rigmarole  of  how  pleased  he  was  to  see 
her  made  an  honest  woman,  by  God,  and  married  to 
a  gentleman  she  could  respeck  and  look  up  to.  The 
girl  herself  might  have  been  dead,  for  all  the  attention 
she  paid  to  him  or  any  one ;  but  for  Frenchy's  enfold 
ing  arm,  I  believe  she  would  have  fallen  to  the  ground, 
for  she  was  stony  white,  and  shaking  in  a  kind  of 
chill.  I  could  hear  her  teeth  chatter,  while  Frenchy 
haggled  with  the  pastor,  and  the  trader  went  on  with 
his  endless  gabble. 

We  all  moved  out  of  the  church  together,  old  Tom 
Ryegate  stumbling  along  in  the  rear,  making  very 
poor  weather  of  it  in  the  dark.  All  at  once  he  went 
sprawling  over  something,  and  we  could  hear  him 
cursing  to  himself  as  he  tried  to  get  on  his  legs  again. 

"  Now  's  our  chance,  gentlemen  all,"  cried  the  cap 
tain,  and  off  we  set  running  for  the  beach,  old  Tom's 
voice  growing  fainter  and  fainter  in  our  rear.  We 
tumbled  pell-mell  into  the  boat  that  was  waiting  for 
us,  and  shoved  off  into  deep  water  amid  a  hullabaloo 
of  laughter  and  cheers.  Far  behind  us  we  could  still 
hear  the  old  fellow  calling  and  swearing,  and  even 
when  we  drew  up  under  the  bark,  I  thought  I  could 
yet  detect  the  faint  echo  of  his  voice.  All  this 

202 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

time  Elsie  herself  had  made  no  sound,  and  had  sub 
mitted  like  a  terror-stricken  child  to  be  led  where 
Frenchy  wished.  But  when  she  felt  her  feet  on  the 
gangway  ladder,  and  saw  above  her  head  the  tangled 
yards  and  rigging  of  the  ship,  she  must  have  realised 
all  at  once  what  fate  had  in  store  for  her,  for  she  ut 
tered  a  shuddering  cry  and  began  to  sob.  I  stood  up  in 
the  boat ;  I  tried  to  say  something  of  what  I  felt  5  I 
remember  I  called  Frenchy  a  damned  villain,  and  us 
no  better  for  helping  him. 

"  Stop  that  row ! "  cried  the  captain,  giving  me  a 
punch  in  the  ribs  that  made  me  gasp  and  turn  sick. 
"  I  won't  have  a  word  spoken  against  Mr.  or  Mrs. 
Bonnichon,  and  if  I  catch  you  at  it  again,  you  young 
whelp,  I  '11  lick  you  within  an  inch  of  your  life.  I 
won't  allow  a  mischief-maker  on  my  ship,  nor  a  dirty 
scandal-monger.  Just  you  remember  that,  young 
gentleman." 

I  went  up  the  gangway  in  silence,  humiliated  and  re 
bellious,  to  spend  a  sleepless  night  in  plans  of  revenge. 
My  heart  seemed  to  burst  with  a  sense  of  my  power- 
lessness,  and  I  turned  and  turned  on  my  pillow  in  a 
fever.  The  morning  found  us  beating  up  against  a 
stiff  trade-wind  and  a  heavy  sea,  and  at  breakfast  the 
captain  had  more  than  once  to  leave  the  table  in  order 
to  see  us  through  a  squall.  He  and  Old  Bee  were  the 
only  persons  at  that  meal  except  myself,  but  neither 
commented  on  Frenchy's  absence  or  said  a  word  about 
the  events  of  yesterday.  Indeed,  I  don't  think  they 
exchanged  three  remarks  in  all,  and  these  were  about 
the  weather.  I  could  not  help  gazing  from  time  to 

203 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

time  at  the  door  of  Frenchy's  state-room ;  and  once, 
in  so  doing,  I  encountered  the  captain's  baleful  eye. 
I  looked  away  hastily,  and,  I  am  ashamed  to  add,  I 
trembled.  Frenchy  made  no  appearance  at  lunch,  but 
towards  three  o'clock  of  the  afternoon  I  saw  him  steal 
stealthily  out  and  get  a  bottle  of  whisky  and  some 
biscuits,  and  then  close  his  door  again  on  our  little 
world.  I  was  struck  afresh  with  his  gross,  evil  look, 
and  shrank,  as  one  might  from  a  wild  beast,  at  the 
very  sight  of  him. 

The  second  day  passed  much  as  the  first,  though  it 
found  us  lying  better  up  to  windward.  Frenchy  still 
kept  away  from  the  table,  and  I  used  to  stare  at  his 
closed  state-room  door  with  an  awful  curiosity.  My 
two  companions  were,  if  anything,  more  glum  and 
uncommunicative  than  ever  j  and  when  I  tried  to  draw 
out  Babcock  I  found  that  his  mouth  also  had  been 
sealed.  He  would  give  me  only  snapping  answers, 
and  was  painfully  ill  at  ease  in  my  presence.  Lum 
had  scalded  himself  twice  in  the  galley,  and  was  in  no 
conversational  mood  •  and  when  I  tried  to  unbosom 
myself  to  him  he  cut  me  short  with  the  remark  that 
"  white  men  were  all  same  devil." 

We  ran  into  Lascom  in  the  morning  of  the  third 
day,  and  by  ten  o'clock  were  at  anchor  off  the  settle 
ment.  Babcock  at  once  hoisted  out  eight  or  nine  tons 
of  Frenchy's  stuff,  most  of  it  food  for  his  year's  sojourn 
on  the  island,  together  with  a  lot  of  mess  pork  and  bis 
cuits  for  the  Kanakas ;  and  all  hands  were  busy  getting 
it  into  the  whale-boat  alongside.  The  captain  and 
Old  Bee  were  sitting  side  by  side  on  the  top  of  the 

204 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

house,  the  latter  with  a  pocket  full  of  papers  and  a 
portfolio  desk  across  his  knee.  They  were  laughing 
together,  and  Mins  was  holding  the  ink-bottle  in  one 
hand.  Lum  was  standing  at  the  break  of  the  poop, 
peeling  potatoes  and  watching  his  bread,  which  was 
spread  out  on  the  hatch  to  rise.  I  could  not  stay  still, 
but  kept  moving  about  in  a  state  of  frightful  agita 
tion,  for  I  knew  that  Elsie  and  the  Frenchman  must 
soon  appear. 

Suddenly  I  heard  a  half-smothered  oath,  the  shat 
tering  of  glass,  the  rapid  patter  of  naked  feet.  I 
turned,  and  there  was  Elsie  Eyegate  poised  on  the 
ship's  rail,  her  black  hair  flying  to  the  wind,  her  bare 
arms  outspread.  She  was  over  like  a  flash,  and  her 
feet  had  barely  touched  the  water  when  Frenchy 
leaped  after  her.  We  all  shouted  and  ran  aft,  the 
crew  whooping  like  a  pack  of  boys.  The  girl  headed 
as  straight  as  an  arrow  for  the  shore,  but  she  had  not 
swum  twenty  strokes  before  Frenchy  was  panting  and 
blowing  close  behind  her.  Seeing,  apparently,  that 
she  could  not  hope  to  escape,  she  turned  and  seemed 
to  resign  herself  to  capture.  But  as  Frenchy  tried 
to  seize  her  by  the  hair,  she  swiftly  threw  both  her 
arms  round  his  neck,  and  with  a  tragic  look  of  exulta 
tion  she  sank  with  him  below. 

Down,  down  they  went,  the  puddled  green  water 
showing  them  vaguely  beneath  the  surface,  sometimes 
with  a  ghastly  distinctness,  sometimes  with  strange 
distortions  of  feature  and  limb.  They  rose  at  last, 
still  struggling,  still  drowning  each  other,  the  girl's 
arms  clinched  round  the  man's  neck,  he  spluttering 

205 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

horribly  and  trying  to  strike  at  her  with  his  fist. 
Spellbound,  we  saw  them  sink  again,  their  convulsed 
faces  almost  touching,  their  bodies  writhing  in  agony. 
Mins  let  out  a  great  roar  and  darted  for  the  life-belt ; 
there  was  a  rush  forward  to  cast  off  the  whaler  in 
which  Frenchy's  stuff  was  being  lightered ;  Old  Bee 
screamed  out,  "  Jump  !  jump  !  "  to  our  boatswain, 
who  was  looking  on  transfixed,  pointing  madly  at 
the  bubbles  that  kept  rising  to  the  surface.  Johnny 
made  one  step  aft,  and  was  just  on  the  point  of  vault 
ing  over  the  rail  when  Lum  caught  him  squarely 
round  the  waist  and  held  him  like  a  vise.  There 
was  a  short,  violent  struggle  between  them,  and 
the  Chinaman  went  down  with  a  crash  under  the 
Kanaka.  But  by  the  time  the  latter  was  on  his  feet 
again  the  moment  for  his  services  had  passed,  for 
Frenchy's  body,  still  locked  in  Elsie  Ryegate's  arms, 
drifted  lifeless  under  our  quarter.  The  captain  pointed 
at  it  with  an  awe-stricken  finger,  and  signalled  the 
whale-boat  where  to  pull. 

The  girl's  corpse  was  thrown  on  an  old  sail  in  the 
waist,  and  left  there,  naked  and  dripping,  for  the  crew 
to  gape  at ;  while  Frenchy  was  borne  off  by  the  cap 
tain,  who,  with  streaming  tears,  worked  over  him  for 
an  hour  in  the  trade-room.  When  Lum  and  I  had 
recovered  our  wits,  we  drew  the  poor  drowned  crea 
ture  into  the  galley,  put  hot  bottles  to  her  feet, 
rubbed  her  icy  body  with  our  hands,  and  held  her  up 
between  us  to  the  blazing  fire.  Lum  blew  into  her 
mouth,  worked  her  arms  up  and  down,  and  exhausted 
a  thousand  ingenuities  to  call  her  back  to  life ;  but 

206 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

the  little  looking-glass  he  held  so  persistently  to  her 
lips  remained  to  the  end  untarnished  by  a  breath. 
We  were  compelled  at  last— though  God  knows  how 
reluctantly — to  give  up  all  hope ;  and  laying  her 
gently  in  the  Chinaman's  berth,  we  covered  her  beau 
tiful  face.  Then  I  took  occasion  to  ask  Lum  why 
he  had  prevented  Johnny  from  diving  overboard— 
Johnny  who  was  a  powerful  swimmer  and  certain  to 
have  saved  them. 

"  More  better  she  die,"  he  said ;  and  then,  with  a 
dramatic  gesture,  he  pointed  to  the  shore,  and  asked 
me  in  his  broken  English  whether  she  could  have  en 
dured  a  year  of  it  with  that  man. 

"More  better  she  die,"  he  repeated,  and  regarded 
me  with  a  deep  solemnity. 

There  was  not  much  dinner  eaten  that  day,  though 
one  must  needs  be  cooked  and  served.  I  looked  fear 
fully  into  the  trade-room,  and  saw  Frenchy's  body 
stretched  out  on  the  counter,  a  towel  drawn  over  his 
swarthy  face.  Lum  and  I  closed  the  galley  doors, 
and  smoked  countless  cigarettes  together  in  the  semi- 
darkness,  finding  consolation  in  one  another's  com 
pany.  The  tragedy  hung  heavy  upon  us  both ;  and 
the  knowledge  that  one  of  its  victims  lay  but  a  yard 
away  seemed  to  bring  death  close  to  us  all ;  so  that  we 
trembled  for  ourselves  and  sat  near  together  in  a  sort 
of  horror.  Towards  three  o'clock  some  one  pounded 
violently  at  the  door,  and  on  Lum's  unlocking  it,  we 
found  ourselves  confronted  by  Johnny  the  boatswain. 

He  told  us  bluntly  he  wanted  the  girl's  body,  to  bury 
it  ashore. 

207 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

"  Captain's  orders/'  he  said,  with  a  nasty  look  at  the 
Chinaman. 

"You  make  two  hole?"  queried  Lum— "two 
grave  ? " 

"  One,  that 's  all,"  said  Johnny,  with  a  grin.  "  We 
bury  them  together,  you  China  fool." 

"  No,  that  you  will  not !  "  cried  Lum,  with  a  sudden 
flame  in  his  almond  eyes.  "  You  can  bury  Frenchy, 
but  me  and  Bence  make  hole  for  the  girl." 

"  No,  you  won't,"  cried  Johnny,  making  a  movement 
to  force  his  way  in ;  but  Lum  caught  up  the  cleaver, 
and  stood  there,  looking  so  incensed  and  defiant 
that  the  Kanaka  was  glad  to  move  away.  He  went 
off,  swearing  all  kinds  of  things,  and  we  saw  him  after 
wards  complaining  angrily  to  Old  Bee. 

But  the  Chinaman  was  in  a  fighting  humour.  It 
would  have  taken  more  than  mere  words  to  cow  his 
spirit.  He  called  me  out  on  deck,  and  there,  between 
us,  we  got  the  dinghy  off  the  beds  and  launched  her 
alongside  the  ship— without  asking  by  your  leave  or 
anything— and  pulled  her  round  to  the  gangway  lad 
der.  Then,  as  I  held  her  fast  with  the  boat-hook,  Lum 
went  back,  and  reappeared  a  minute  later  with  Elsie's 
corpse  in  his  arms.  Settling  it  carefully  in  the  bottom 
of  the  boat,  her  comely  head  resting  on  a  bundle  tied 
in  yellow  silk,  the  Chinaman  took  one  of  the  oars 
and  bade  me  pull  with  the  other.  Even  as  I  did  so  I 
noticed  the  meat-cleaver  bulging  out  his  jumper  and 
a  six-shooter  in  the  hind  pocket  of  his  jeans. 

We  headed  for  the  shore  about  a  mile  above  the 
settlement,  and  made  a  landing  in  a  shallow  cove.  My 

208 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

companion  lifted  out  the  girl's  body  and  waded  with 
it  ashore,  carrying  the  yellow  bundle  by  his  teeth  like 
a  dog.  I  followed  him  in  silence  as  he  passed  into  the 
scrub  and  tramped  heavily  towards  the  weather  side 
of  the  island.  We  emerged  on  a  wide  and  glaring 
beach,  on  which,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  a  furi 
ous  surf  was  thundering.  Lum  laid  his  burden  down 
beneath  the  shade  of  a  palm,  and  set  himself  to  dig  a 
grave  with  the  cleaver.  As  he  toiled  the  sweat  rolled 
off  him  in  great  beads  and  his  saturated  clothes  stuck 
to  him  as  though  he  had  been  soaked  in  water.  Once 
or  twice  he  rested,  wiping  his  hands  and  face  on  my 
handkerchief,  and  smoking  the  cigarette  I  rolled  for 
him.  It  must  have  been  a  couple  of  hours  before  the 
grave  was  finished  to  his  liking,  for  he  was  particular 
to  have  it  deep  and  well  squared.  Then  he  opened 
the  little  bundle  that  had  served  so  long  for  Elsie's 
pillow,  and  took  from  it  a  roll  of  magenta-coloured 
silk,  some  artificial  flowers,  a  packet  of  sweet-smelling 
leaves,  and  a  number  of  red  tissue-paper  sheets  printed 
with  gilt  Chinese  characters.  The  silk  he  used  to 
partly  cover  the  bottom  of  the  grave ;  the  flowers  and 
fragrant  leaves  were  placed  at  the  end  where  her  head 
would  lie  j  and  all  being  thus  ready  for  her  last  bed, 
the  two  of  us  lowered  her  sorrowfully  into  it.  This 
done,  Lum  shrouded  her  in  the  remnant  of  the  silk, 
and  we  filled  up  the  grave  together,  shovelling  the 
sand  in  with  our  hands. 

Lum  took  the  pieces  of  red  tissue-paper,  and  laid 
some  on  the  ground  to  mark  the  place,  pinning  a 
dozen  more  to  the  neighbouring  shrubs  and  trees, 

2Og 


Frenchy's  Last  Job 

where  they  fluttered  in  the  boisterous  trade.  Some 
got  away  altogether  and  went  scudding  along  the 
beach  or  out  to  sea,  and  one  blew  high  in  the  air  like 
a  kite.  Lum  watched  them  for  a  while  in  silence,  and 
then,  with  a  sigh,  turned  about  to  recross  the  island. 

"  A  week  ago  she  little  thought  this  would  be  her 
end,"  I  said,  half  to  myself. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  look  Lum  gave  me.  The 
self-reproach  and  shame  of  it  was  too  poignant  for 
words. 

"  I  think  you  and  me  all  same  coward,"  he  said. 


2  IO 


THE  DEVIL'S  WHITE  MAN 


THE   DEVIL'S   WHITE  MAN 

WE  were  all  lying  on  the  floor  of  Letonu's  big 
house,  Tautala  and  I  side  by  side,  our  heads 
both  pillowed  on  the  same  bamboo.  About  us  on  the 
mats  the  whole  family  lay  outstretched  in  slumber, 
save  little  Titi,  who  was  droning  on  a  jews'-harp,  and 
my  coxswain,  George  Leapai,  who  was  playing  a  game 
of  draughts  with  the  chief.  The  air  was  hot  and 
drowsy,  and  the  lowered  eaves  let  through  streaks  of 
burning  sunshine,  outlining  a  sort  of  pattern  on  an 
old  fellow  who  moaned  occasionally  in  his  sleep. 

"In  the  White  Country,"  said  Tautala,  " didst  thou 
ever  happen  to  meet  a  chief  named  Patsy?— a  beau 
tiful  young  man  with  sea-blue  eyes  and  golden  hair  ? " 

"  What  was  his  other  name  ? "  I  asked. 

Tautala  could  not  recall  it,  the  foreign  stutter 
being  so  unrememberable.  Indeed,  she  doubted  al 
most  if  she  had  ever  heard  it.  "  We  called  him  Patsy," 
she  said,  "and  he  used  to  tell  us  he  was  descended 
from  a  line  of  kings." 

"Was  n't  it  O'  something?"  I  inquired. 

No,  she  could  n't  remember.  It  was  long  ago,  when 
she  was  a  little  child  and  knew  nothing ;  but  she  had 
loved  Patsy,  and  it  was  a  sad  day  to  her  when  the 
devil  took  him. 

213 


The  Devil's  White  Man 

"  Tell  me  about  it,"  I  said.  "  I  have  never  heard 
that  tola? 

u Oh,  it  is  a  true  story/7  she  said 5  "for  was  not  my 
own  sister  Java  married  to  Patsy,  and  did  I  not  see  it 
all  with  my  own  eyes,  from  the  beginning  even  to 
the  end !  But  thou  must  strengthen  thyself  to  hear 
it,  for  it  is  a  tale  of  sadness." 

"  I  will  strive  to  bear  it,7'  I  replied. 

"Well,  it  was  this  way,"  she  began.  "Many  years 
ago  a  steamer  reached  our  bay,  and  it  was  neither  a 
man-of-war,  nor  a  trading- vessel,  nor  a  ship  of  plea 
suring  ;  and  the  hold  of  it  was  filled  with  nothing  but 
rope,  miles  and  miles  of  rope,  all  of  a  single  piece  like 
a  ball  of  great  string ;  nor  was  the  least  piece  of  it  for 
sale  j  no,  not  even  though  a  ton  of  coprah  were  offered 
for  a  single  fathom.  The  officers  of  the  ship  were 
most  agreeable  people,  and  so  polite  that,  except  for 
the  colour  of  their  skins,  you  would  never  think  them 
white  men  at  all;  and  the  captain  gave  my  father  his 
photograph,  and  made  for  us  a  feast  on  board  his  ship, 
of  sardines  and  tea,  so  that  we  were  soon  very  friendly 
together  and  almost  like  members  of  one  family. 
Then  the  captain  begged  my  father's  permission  to 
build  a  little  house  on  the  edge  of  the  bay,  which  was 
no  sooner  asked  than  done ;  for  behold,  it  was  in 
measured  pieces  for  the  building.  Farther  inland, 
near  the  old  w'-tree,  another  house  was  raised,  this  also 
of  boards  previously  cut  and  prepared.  Then  the  end 
of  the  big  rope  was  carried  to  the  beach-house  in  a 
boat,  and  made  fast  to  all  manner  of  strange  tongafiti 
within,  some  that  ticked  like  clocks,  and  others  that 

214 


The  Devil's  White  Man 

went  'whir,  whir/  like  a  bird  with  a  broken  wing. 
Here,  in  the  middle  of  it  all,  a  shining  chair  was  pre 
pared  for  Patsy  to  sit  in  and  a  big  desk  for  Patsy  to 
write  at.  But  to  the  inland  house  was  brought  his  bed, 
and  countless  cases  of  sardines  and  pea-soup,  and  all 
the  many  things  needed  for  the  comfort  and  well- 
being  of  a  white  man. 

"  When  all  was  thus  ready  to  the  captain's  liking,  he 
blew  his  whistle  and  sailed  out  of  the  bay,  leaving 
Patsy  singly  to  take  care  of  the  end  of  the  big  rope. 
This  Patsy  did  with  assiduity,  so  that  there  was  never 
a  morning  but  found  him  sitting  beside  it,  and  sel 
dom  an  afternoon  or  evening  he  did  not  visit  it  at  in 
tervals.  Sometimes  the  rope  would  hold  him  there 
the  whole  night,  saying  without  end, l  click,  click,  whir, 
whir/  as  its  manner  was,  so  that  I  would  fall  asleep 
with  the  light  of  Patsy's  lamp  in  my  eyes,  and  wake 
again  at  dawn  to  find  it  still  burning ;  and  if  we  went 
down  to  the  shore,  as  we  often  did  at  first  in  our  curi 
osity,  we  would  see  the  white  man  lying  asleep  in  his 
chair,  his  cold  pipe  on  the  table  beside  him.  People 
asked  one  another  the  meaning  of  a  rope  so  singular, 
and  wondered  ceaselessly  as  to  the  nature  of  Patsy's 
concern  with  it.  From  all  the  villages  expeditions 
came  in  crowded  boats  to  behold  the  marvel  with  their 
own  eyes,  so  that  they,  too,  might  hear  it  say  ( click, 
click,  whir,  whir/  as  its  manner  was,  and  stare  the 
while  at  Patsy  through  the  window.  Songs  were  made 
about  the  rope,  some  of  them  gay,  others  grave  and 
beautiful,  with  parables ;  it  became  a  proverb  here 
abouts  to  say  'as  long  as  Patsy's  rope/  meaning  a 

215 


The  Devil's  White  Man 

thing  without  end,  as  the  perpetual  crying  of  a  child, 
or  the  love  of  a  maid  for  a  man. 

"  Thou  must  not  think,  Siosi,  that  Patsy  was  not 
often  asked  the  reason  of  his  strange  employment,  and  a 
thousand  questions  besides  about  the  wonderful  rope ; 
but  at  first  he  knew  nothing  of  our  language,  and 
when  people  would  point  at  it  and  say,  t  click,  click, 
whir,  whir/  in  mockery  of  what  it  uttered  contin 
ually,  Patsy  would  only  smile  and  repeat  back  to  them, 
1  click,  click,  whir,  whir/  so  that  nothing  was  accom 
plished.  But  he  was  so  gentle  and  well-mannered, 
and  so  generous  with  his  property,  that  one  could 
hardly  count  him  a  white  man  at  all  j  and  those  who 
had  at  first  mistrusted  his  presence  in  our  village 
began  soon  to  love  him  like  a  relation.  No  music-box 
was  sweeter  than  his  voice,  and  often  on  a  moonlight 
night  the  whole  village  would  gather  round  his  house 
to  hear  him  sing,  or  to  see  him  dance  hornpipes  on  his 
verandah. 

"  One  day,  in  a  boat  from  Saf otulaf ai,  there  arrived 
a  native  of  this  island  who  had  long  been  absent,  sail 
ing  in  the  white  men's  ships.  This  man  being,  of 
course,  familiar  with  the  white  stutter,  it  occurred  to 
Nehemiah  the  pastor  (who  had  long  been  troubled  by 
the  matter  of  the  rope)  that  here,  at  last,  was  the 
means  of  learning  the  truth  from  Patsy.  Whereupon 
a  meeting  of  the  village  chiefs  was  summoned  in  the 
house  of  Nehemiah  j  and  after  a  great  deal  of  speech- 
making  it  was  determined  to  wait  on  Patsy  in  a  body, 
Tomasi,  the  seaman,  going  with  them  to  interpret. 

"  Patsy  was  at  his  usual  place  beside  the  big  rope, 

2  l6 


The  Devil's  White  Man 

smoking  his  pipe  and  hearkening  to  the  voice  as  it 
said  '  click,  click,  whir,  whir/  as  its  manner  was.  My 
father,  Letonu,  was  the  first  to  speak ;  then  Nehemiah 
the  pastor  ;  Tomasi  translating  every  word,  as  had  been 
previously  agreed.  They  both  asked  for  an  explana 
tion  of  the  great  rope,  and  why  it  had  been  made 
fast  to  our  island,  and  where  it  went  to  underneath  the 
sea,  and  the  reason  of  its  continually  saying  l  click, 
click,  whir,  whir.' 

"  Patsy  took  some  thought  to  answer,  and  when  at 
last  he  spoke,  his  words  overwhelmed  every  one  with 
astonishment  and  fear.  It  seemed  that  the  devil  was 
afraid  that  our  village  was  becoming  too  good ;  for 
being  himself  so  busy  in  Tonga  and  Fiji  and  the  White 
Country,  he  could  not  give  our  place  the  proper  over 
sight  j  and  was  mortified  to  see  that  every  Aunu'u 
dead  person  went  straight  to  heaven.  Thereupon  he 
had  run  this  cable  from  hell,  and  had  hired  Patsy  for 
a  hundred  dollars  a  month  to  warn  him  when  any 
thing  bad  was  happening.  Patsy  explained  that  the 
great  rope  was  like  a  dog :  one  pinched  his  tail  here 
and  he  barked  there  ;  thus  signals  were  exchanged,  as 
had  been  earlier  agreed  upon,  so  that  two  barks  meant 
A,  and  three  meant  B,  and  so  on  through  the  ala- 
fapeta. 

"  Then  Nehemiah  asked  him  in  a  trembling  voice 
(for  horror  of  the  devil  was  upon  them  all)  how  dared 
he  serve  the  Evil  One  for  the  sake  of  a  few  dollars  this 
month  and  that,  thus  imperilling  his  own  immortal 
soul  for  ever.  But  Patsy  answered  that  the  White 
Country  was  cold  and  barren,  and  fuller  of  men  than 

217 


The  Devil's  White  Man 

our  beach  of  grains  of  sand.  He  said  that  the  lands, 
such  as  they  were,  belonged  only  to  a  few,  and  those 
who  possessed  none  must  needs  seek  a  living  where 
they  could,  or  die  of  hunger  in  the  road.  All  this  was 
borne  out  by  Tomasi,  who  himself  had  seen  old  white 
chief tainesses  begging  for  food  in  the  White  Country, 
and  little  children  perishing  unrelieved.  Patsy  said 
that  when  a  man  was  wanted  to  do  a  thing  for  hire,  a 
hundred  offered  themselves  only  to  be  turned  away,  so 
great  was  the  misery  of  the  White  Country,  so  mean 
the  hearts  of  those  who  were  rich.  Whereupon,  said 
Patsy,  he  had  been  glad  to  take  the  devil's  money 
and  do  the  devil's  work,  for  other  choice  there  was 
none. 

"  Then  said  Letonu,  my  father,  <  Patsy,  thou  must 
leave  the  devil  and  cease  to  do  his  bidding;  and 
though  we  have  no  hundred  dollars,  we  can  give  thee, 
here  in  Aunu'u,  everything  else  the  heart  of  man 
desires :  taro,  breadfruit,  yams,  pigs,  valo,  squid,  and 
chickens,  wild  doves  in  their  season,  and  good  fish  for 
every  day  of  the  year ;  and  I  will  take  thee  to  be  my 
son,  to  live  with  me  in  my  fine  house  and  share  with 
me  everything  I  possess.' 

"  But  Patsy  only  shook  his  head,  and  the  rope,  seem 
ingly  terrified  lest  it  were  about  to  lose  him,  began  to 
click  convulsively  and  without  ceasing.  Patsy  kept 
hearkening  to  it  while  he  listened  also  to  my  father, 
which  he  did  with  a  divided  face,  like  one  hearing  two 
voices  at  once.  He  said  he  thanked  my  father  very 
much  for  his  kindness,  but  the  fact  was,  he  liked  the 
devil,  who  was  now  to  him  almost  a  member  of  his 

218 


The  Devil's  White  Man 

own  family,  and  unfailing  with  the  money,  one  hun 
dred  dollars  this  month  and  that.  Then  Nehemiah 
made  another  speech,  full  of  piety  and  warning,  and 
thereupon  finding  that  nothing  could  turn  Patsy's 
rock-like  heart,  he  rose  slowly  to  his  feet  and  led  the 
party  out  of  doors.  There  a  new  discussion  took 
place,  the  pastor  proposing  to  kill  Patsy  that  night 
and  burn  down  his  house ;  my  father  resisting  him 
and  saying  that  he  would  permit  no  harm  to  come  to 
his  friend  the  white  man,  whether  he  belonged  to  the 
devil  or  not. 

"  I  don't  know  how  it  was,  but  from  the  day  of  that 
meeting  Patsy  began  greatly  to  love  my  father,  and 
half  his  time  he  spent  in  our  house  and  near  him,  so 
that  the  neighbours  marvelled  about  it  and  were 
crazed  with  envy.  He  gave  my  father  a  black  coat 
to  wear  on  Sundays,  and  cartridges  for  his  gun,  and 
nightly  they  took  lessons  together  in  our  language^ 
Letonu  teaching  him  to  say  our  words,  while  Patsy 
wrote  them  down  on  a  sheet  of  paper.  Nehemiah 
preached  against  us  in  the  church,  and  would  have 
stopped  my  father's  communion  ticket,  but  Letonu 
said  he  would  shoot  him,  if  he  did,  with  both  barrels 
of  his  gun. 

"  One  day  my  sister  Java  returned  from  Savalalo, 
where  she  had  been  living  in  the  family  of  my  uncle. 
She  was  a  girl  beautiful  to  look  at,  and  so  tall  and 
graceful  that  there  was  not  a  young  man  in  the  vil 
lage  but  whose  heart  burned  at  the  sight  of  her.  Of 
them  all  Patsy  alone  seemed  not  to  care ;  and  in  the 
evenings,  when  his  devil  work  was  done  and  he  would 

219 


The  Devil's  White  Man 

romp  with  us  on  the  mats  or  talk  with  my  father 
about  foreign  countries,  he  never  had  as  much  as  a 
glance  for  my  sister;  while  she,  on  her  side,  treated 
him  always  with  disdain,  and  often  kept  away  from 
the  house  when  she  knew  him  to  be  there.  I  think 
Patsy  must  somehow  have  found  this  out,  for  one 
night  he  told  us  that  he  would  never  come  back  again, 
as  Java  hated  him ;  and  he  kissed  us  all,  and  departed 
sorrowfully  into  the  darkness.  After  that,  when  he 
was  not  busy  in  the  devil-house,  he  took  long  walks 
into  the  bush  with  his  gun,  or  sat  solitary  on  his 
verandah,  reading  a  book ;  at  night  he  sang  no  more, 
nor  danced  hornpipes,  but  read  and  read  with  a  sad 
face,  like  a  person  who  mourned  a  relation. 

"  We  were  angry  with  Java  for  having  driven  Patsy 
away,  and  told  her  to  go  back  to  Savalalo  and  let  us 
have  our  darling  j  but  she  seemed  not  to  care  for  what 
we  said,  and  only  answered  that  she  hoped  never  to 
see  the  devil's  white  man  again.  My  father,  who 
loved  Patsy,  was  greatly  vexed  with  her,  though  he 
said  little  at  first,  thinking  that  our  friend  would  soon 
return  and  that  Java  would  grow  ashamed.  But  when 
day  after  day  passed  and  he  stayed  away  continually, 
my  father  talked  to  Java  with  severity,  and  bade  her 
go  down  to  the  devil-house  and  ask  Patsy's  pardon  for 
her  wickedness.  She  was  very  loath  to  obey,  and  only 
went  at  last  when  Letonu  threatened  to  send  her  lashed 
like  a  pig  to  a  pole,  and  pretended  to  call  his  young 
men  together  for  that  purpose.  I  was  told  to  go  with 
her,  for  thou  knowest  our  custom  forbidding  a  young 
girl  to  go  anywhere  alone,  lest  people  should  talk  and 

220 


The  Devil's  White  Man 

take  away  her  reputation.  But  I  felt  sorry  for  Patsy  as 
I  walked  behind  my  sister  down  the  path  to  his  house, 
for  she  carried  herself  defiantly,  and  there  were  tears 
of  anger  in  her  beautiful  eyes. 

"  We  found  Patsy  sitting,  as  usual,  in  the  devil-house, 
the  great  rope  tail  clicking  at  his  elbow  with  messages 
from  hell;  and  though  he  sprang  up  smiling  when 
Java  opened  the  door,  I  thought  his  face  looked  sad 
and  changed.  She  bade  me  stay  outside,  and  as  she 
seated  herself  in  Patsy's  chair  and  began  to  explain 
the  errand  on  which  she  had  come,  I  could  see  that 
her  lips  were  trembling.  For  a  long  time  I  heard 
them  talking  in  low  voices,  and  then,  growing  weary 
of  waiting,  I  fell  asleep  on  the  warm  door-step.  I  do 
not  know  how  long  I  slept,  but  when  I  at  last  awoke 
I  could  still  hear  the  unceasing  murmur  of  their  voices 
inside  the  room,  sweet  and  soft,  as  of  pigeons  cooing 
in  the  mountains.  I  turned  the  knob  of  the  door 
and  went  in  ;  and  there,  to  my  astonishment,  I  beheld 
my  sister  in  Patsy's  arms,  her  head  buried  in  his 
breast,  her  hands  clasped  thus  about  his  neck,  while 
he  was  talking  foolishly  like  a  mother  to  her  nursing 
child.  At  the  sight  of  me  they  sprang  apart,  laughing 
loudly  like  children  at  play ;  and  when  I  asked  Java 
if  she  had  given  her  message,  they  both  laughed  more 
than  ever  and  caught  each  other's  hands. 

"  On  our  return,  Java  asked  me  to  say  nothing  of 
what  I  had  seen ;  and  told  me,  in  answer  to  my  ques 
tions,  that  Patsy  had  been  secretly  breaking  his  heart 
for  her,  though  she  had  never  known  it ;  and  that  she, 
no  less,  had  been  delirious  for  the  love  of  him.  She 

221 


The  Devil's  White  Man 

said,  too,  that  he  was  the  most  beautiful  man  in  the 
world,  and  wise  and  good  above  all  others,  and  that 
her  love  for  him  was  so  great  that  it  almost  choked 
her.  When  I  spoke  doubtfully  of  the  devil,  she  said 
that  was  all  a  pepelo,  a  joke  of  Patsy's ;  that  the  rope 
was  what  she  called  a  telenafo,  which  ran  under  the 
sea  from  one  country  to  another,  telling  the  news  of 
each.  She  said  that  Patsy  had  explained  everything 
to  her,  and  had  even  shown  her  the  little  pots  of  thunder 
and  lightning  with  which  the  telenafo  was  controlled. 
"  It  was  not  long  after  this  that  Patsy  and  Java  were 
married  by  the  pastor  Nehemiah,  my  father  giving 
them  a  wedding  feast  the  like  of  which  had  never 
before  been  seen  in  Aunu'u,  so  innumerable  were 
the  pigs,  so  gorgeous  the  fine  mats  and  offerings. 
Java  went  to  live  in  the  inland  house,  and  wore  a  gold 
ring  on  her  finger  and  new  dresses  every  day.  Patsy 
gave  her  another  sewing-machine  in  the  place  of  the 
old  one,  and  a  present  of  two  chests  for  her  clothes ; 
and  every  day  she  ate  sardines  and  salt  beef  like  a 
white  person.  At  first  she  was  pleased  with  every 
thing,  and  her  face  was  always  smiling  with  her  hap 
piness  j  but  as  days  grew  on  she  began  to  tire  of  the 
white  way,— which,  as  thou  knowest,  Siosi,  is  relentless 
and  unchanging,— and  of  the  work,  which  is  continual. 
A  daughter  of  a  chief  lives  easily  in  Rakahanga,  and 
little  is  expected  of  her,  for  there  are  girls  to  wait  on 
her  and  men  to  do  the  heavy  labour.  Java  grew  sad 
in  her  elegant  house,  and  cared  less  and  less  to  paint 
the  stove  with  blacking  and  wash  greasy  dishes  all 
day,  while  the  village  maids  were  sporting  in  the 

222 


The  Devil's  White  Man 

lagoon  or  fishing  by  torch-light  on  the  reef.  She 
opened  her  distressed  heart  to  Patsy,  and  old  Ta'a 
was  called  in,  at  a  monthly  wage  of  three  dollars,  to 
carry  the  burden  of  these  unending  tasks.  But  old 
Ta'a  was  a  busybody  and  a  thief,  and  the  lies  she  said 
with  her  tongue  were  worse  to  be  endured  than  even 
the  loss  of  kerosene  and  rice  which  took  place  con 
tinually.  Every  day  something  was  taken,  and  when 
Patsy  wondered  and  complained,  the  old  one  said  the 
fault  was  Java's  for  giving  to  her  family  like  a  deliri 
ous  person.  Were  I  to  get  a  biscuit,  the  old  one 
changed  it  into  six ;  and  were  Letonu  to  beg  a  little 
tea  and  sugar  for  his  cough,  it  became  transformed  in 
the  telling  into  many  basket-loads.  On  the  other  side, 
Ta'a  slowly  embittered  Java's  mind  against  her  hus 
band,  telling  her  that  the  marriage  was  no  true  mar 
riage,  and  that  when  Patsy  saw  a  prettier  face  he 
would  not  scruple  to  cast  her  off.  So  the  old  woman 
stayed  on  and  thrived,  like  a  fat  maggot  in  a  bread 
fruit,  while  Java  cried  in  secret  and  Patsy  grew  daily 
more  downcast  and  silent. 

"  At  last  the  storm  burst  which  had  so  long  been 
gathering,  and  the  little  house  that  had  been  so 
joyful  now  shook  with  the  sound  of  quarrelling 
voices.  Java  took  her  golden  ring  and  threw  it  on 
the  floor,  and  with  it  her  golden  comb,  her  much- 
prized  ear-rings,  and  the  brooch  which  in  years  gone 
by  had  belonged  to  Patsy's  mother  in  the  White 
Country;  she  stripped  off  her  dress,  her  shoes  and 
stockings,  even  the  ribbon  from  her  long  black  hair  j 
and  then,  half  naked,  she  returned  to  our  father's  house. 

223 


The  Devil's  White  Man 

lt  Letonu  was,  of  course,  much  concerned,  and  went 
down  immediately  to  see  Patsy  in  order  to  make 
things  smooth  again.  But  the  white  man  was  sullen 
and  proud,  and  would  talk  of  nothing,  except  that 
Java  could  do  as  she  pleased,  and  that  it  was  the 
same  to  him  whether  she  stayed  or  went.  My  father, 
who  had  been  a  handsome  man  in  his  youth  and  knew 
the  ways  of  women,  urged  Patsy  a  thousand  times  to 
make  it  up  quickly  with  his  wife,  telling  him  to  put 
his  arms  round  her  and  kiss  her  and  all  would  be 
well.  l  Thou  mayest  know  much  about  the  telenafo, 
and  how  to  keep  thunder  and  lightning  in  pots,7  said 
my  wise  father,  '  but  assuredly,  Patsy,  thou  art  igno 
rant  of  the  hearts  of  women.7  He  told  him  that  Java 
was  already  repentant  and  ashamed,  and,  like  a  person 
on  the  top  of  a  high  wall,  a  push  would  send  her  either 
way.  But  Patsy,  like  a  little  sulky  child,  sat  in  his  chair 
and  refused  to  speak,  while  Ta7a  rattled  the  dishes 
and  laughed  sideways  to  herself.  It  was  sad,  when 
my  father  returned,  to  see  the  look  that  Java  gave 
him.  Her  hot  fit  was  already  past,  and  her  face 
was  full  of  longing  and  sorrow;  and  on  his  saying 
that  nothing  could  be  accomplished,  she  lay  down  on 
a  mat,  and  remained  there  all  day  like  a  sick  person. 
She  lay  thus  for  nearly  a  week  j  and  if  we  asked  her 
anything,  she  would  only  groan  arid  turn  away  her 
head.  She  was  waiting  for  her  man  to  come  to  her  j  but 
to  him  there  was  no  such  intention ;  for  he  stayed  shut 
up  in  the  devil-house,  or  wandered  uselessly  in  the 
bush  by  himself. 

"  At  last  she  got  up,  more  dead  than  living,  so  thin 

2  24 


The  Devil's  White  Man 

slie  was  and  changed ;  and  calling  for  food,  she  ate  with 
the  voracity  of  a  starving  person ;  and  then  she  bathed, 
and  did  her  hair  with  flowers,  and  put  on  the  poor 
clothes  she  had  worn  as  a  maid.  '  Behold/  she  said, 
'I  am  now  one  of  the  aualuma  and  no  longer  mar 
ried.'  And  from  that  day  she  who  had  been  the 
most  circumspect  girl  in  the  village,  and  the  best  be 
haved,  became  swiftly  a  run-wild-in-the-bush,  going 
everywhere  unattended,  and  sitting  up  with  the  young 
men  at  night,  so  that  people  called  her  a  paumotu,  and 
her  communion  ticket  was  withdrawn. 

"  Patsy  never  lacked  for  news  of  her  down-going,  for 
old  Ta'a  still  kept  house  for  him  5  and  no  tale  was 
ever  told  of  Java  but  the  old  one  brought  it  to  him, 
and  more  also,  conceived  by  her  lying  heart.  Patsy 
never  tried  to  see  his  wife  or  to  do  anything  to  bring 
about  peace  between  them ;  and  if  he  passed  her  in 
the  path  he  would  turn  away  his  head,  even  if  it  were 
night,  and  she  alone  with  another  man.  Once,  only, 
he  showed  that  he  still  remembered  her  at  all,  at  a 
time  when  she  was  possessed  of  a  devil  and  like  to 
die ;  then  he  came  to  our  house,  and  felt  her  hands, 
and  gave  her  medicines  from  a  little  box,  and  told  my 
father  to  do  this  and  that.  And  when  she  grew  bet 
ter  and  able  to  sit  up,  he  sent  us  salt  beef  and  sar 
dines  for  her  well-being. 

"  Now  it  happened  there  belonged  to  Ta'a's  family  a 
girl  named  Sina,  a  thin,  hungry  piece  with  a  canoe- 
nose  like  a  white  man's,  and  a  face  so  unsightly  that 
it  resembled  a  pig's ;  and  if  she  went  anywhere  the 
children  would  cry  after  her,  '  Pig-face,  Pig-face ! ' 

225 


The  Devil's  White  Man 

like  that,  so  that  her  name  of  Sina  was  forgotten,  and 
even  members  of  her  family  called  her  unmindfully 
by  the  other.  Compared  to  Java,  who  was  tall  and 
beautiful  like  a  daughter  of  chiefs,  this  little  Sina  was 
no  more  than  a  half -grown  child ;  and  when  she  was 
stripped  for  bathing,  behold,  you  could  count  the  ribs 
of  her  body.  But  Ta'a  brought  her  every  day  to 
Patsy's  house,  so  that  by  degrees  he  became  accustomed 
to  the  sight  of  her  j  and  all  the  time  the  old  one  kept 
telling  him  that  the  little  Pig-face  loved  him— which, 
perhaps,  indeed  was  true,  for  none  of  our  young  men 
ever  looked  twice  her  way,  except  to  laugh,  and  she 
might  have  stayed  out  all  night  and  no  one  would 
have  thought  to  speak  against  her  character.  Patsy 
was  kind  and  gentle  to  her,  as  he  was  to  every  one 
save  poor  Java ;  and  the  little  Pig-face  followed  him 
like  a  dog,  and  lay  at  his  feet  at  night,  while  he  read 
and  read  on  his  front  verandah.  So  slavish  was  her 
soul  that  she  would  have  kissed  his  feet  if  he  had 
kicked  her,  and  nothing  pleased  her  so  much  as  to 
sit  beside  him  when  he  slept  and  keep  the  flies  from 
off  his  face.  In  the  end,  of  course,  there  happened 
that  which  Ta'a  had  long  been  planning:  Patsy 
took  the  little  Pig-face  to  live  with  him,  and  pacified 
her  father  with  two  kegs  of  beef  and  fifteen  silver 
dollars. 

"When  the  news  reached  Java  she  was  consumed 
with  a  frightful  anger,  and  spoke  wildly  and  murder 
ously,  like  a  drunken  white  man,  clinching  her  fists  and 
kicking  with  her  legs.  She  set  to  sharpening  a  knife 
upon  a  stone,  and  we  saw  that  she  meant  to  cut  off 

226 


The  Devil's  White  Man 

the  little  Pig-face's  nose ;  for,  as  thou  knowest,  Siosi, 
such  is  our  custom  here  when  one  woman  wrongs  an 
other.  She  called  together  all  the  old  ladies  of  the 
family,  and  they  took  counsel  with  one  another  in  a 
secret  place,  arranging  between  them  a  scheme  for 
Sina's  capture.  But  the  little  Pig-face  was  cowardly 
beyond  anything  ever  before  known ;  she  bathed  not, 
neither  did  she  wash  nor  walk  about,  but  lay  all  day, 
trembling  and  noisome,  at  Patsy's  feet.  Once,  indeed, 
she  was  nearly  caught,  when  upward  of  a  month  had 
passed  and  she  had  grown  careless  in  her  watching. 
In  the  middle  of  the  night  the  house  was  set  on  fire, 
and  as  the  two  rushed  out  in  confusion,  Sina  was 
seized  in  the  arms  of  a  dozen  women.  Had  it  not 
been  for  the  darkness,  which  made  seeing  difficult,  her 
canoe-nose  would  have  been  swiftly  lost  to  her ;  but 
for  light  they  had  need  to  drag  her  to  the  burning 
house,  she  screaming  the  while  like  a  hundred  pigs. 
Patsy  knew  instantly  what  was  happening,  and  began 
to  fire  his  pistol  in  the  air  as  he  ran  to  his  partner's 
help,  giving  no  thought  at  all  to  his  perishing  house. 
It  was  well  for  the  little  Pig-face  that  he  did  so,  for 
the  knife  had  already  sunk  below  the  skin,  and  a  twist 
would  have  left  her  noseless. 

"  As  for  the  house,  it  burned  and  burned  until  no 
thing  was  left  of  it,  though  the  most  of  what  it  held  was 
carried  out  in  safety.  The  next  morning  Patsy  moved 
everything  down  to  the  devil-house,  making  of  it  a 
fort,  with  a  high  fence  of  wire  all  round,  full  of  barbs 
and  points  for  the  lacerating  of  flesh.  And  the  little 
Pig-face,  with  her  nose  tied  up  in  cloths,  ran  this  way 

227 


The  Devil's  White  Man 

and  that,  helping  him  with  nails,  while  Java  and  I  lay 
in  a  hiding-place  and  counted  her  ribs. 

"  Thou  wouldst  have  thought  that  Java  might  now 
have  rested  in  her  anger,  for  Patsy's  house  was  con 
sumed  and  her  rival  had  felt  the  sharp  edge  of  her 
knife.  But  there  was  no  appeasing  Java's  heart ;  and 
wicked  though  she  was  herself,  and  misconducted,  she 
still  could  not  endure  to  be  supplanted  by  another. 
My  father  spoke  to  her  with  severity,  saying  that  she 
had  done  all  that  our  custom  demanded,  and  that 
there  must  now  be  peace  and  forgetting.  But  the 
blood  came  hotly  into  her  face,  and  she  answered  not 
a  word,  nor  made  the  least  sign  to  obey  Letonu's 
words.  Then  I  saw  with  a  certainty  that  the  war  with 
Sina,  far  from  being  finished,  was  only  just  beginning  j 
and  my  body  quivered  all  over  with  the  fear  of  what 
was  to  come. 

"  For  a  long  time,  however,  Java  did  nothing,  and 
went  about  as  usual,  seeming  to  take  no  further 
thought.  The  old  women  of  the  family  returned  to 
their  ordinary  occupations,  and  no  longer  lay  banded 
in  places  where  Sina  might  pass.  It  would  have  mat 
tered  nothing  if  they  had,  for  the  little  Pig-face  stuck 
to  her  house  like  a  barnacle  to  a  rock ;  and  except  on 
Sundays,  when  she  went  to  church  between  Patsy  and 
Ta'a,  we  never  saw  the  least  hair  of  her  head.  But 
Java  knew  of  means  more  potent  than  knives  for  the 
undoing  of  a  worthless  person,  and  she  sought  out 
Malesa,  the  old  wizard  of  Aleipata,  to  whom  one 
went  ordinarily  for  love-philters  and  medicines.  For 
a  dollar  he  gave  Jarva  a  curse  on  a  sheet  of  paper,  and 

228 


The  Devil's  White  Man 

told  her  to  nail  it  to  the  church  door  on  the  following 
Sunday.  This  she  did,  to  the  great  indignation  of 
Nehemiah  and  the  elders,  though  to  no  purpose  so  far 
as  concerned  the  little  Pig-face,  who  happened  that 
day  and  all  the  Sundays  after  to  keep  away  from 
church,  like  a  heathen  in  the  Black  Islands.  For  what 
worth  is  a  curse  if  thy  enemy  reads  it  not,  nor  goest 
even  near  the  door  on  which  it  is  placed  ?  Is  it  not 
like  firing  a  bullet  in  the  air,  hurting  nothing  ? 

"  So  Java  returned  again  to  Malesa  the  wizard,  and, 
for  lack  of  better  gifts,  she  carried  with  her  the  sew 
ing-machine  she  had  possessed  before  her  marriage. 
But  the  old  man  said  he  must  have  more,  and  spoke 
like  one  delirious,  of  a  hundred  dollars  and  a  boat ; 
and  when  she  cried  out,  he  laid  his  skinny  hand  on  her 
shoulder  and  looked  a  long  time  into  her  eyes,  and 
then  turned  the  wheel  of  the  sewing-machine  to  show 
that  it  was  broken.  But  Java's  heart  was  stronger 
than  a  man's  and  full  of  hatred ;  so  instead  of  shrink 
ing  back,  as  most  women  would  have  done,  she  told 
him  boldly  to  name  some  other  price,  thinking,  per 
haps,  to  give  a  finger,  as  Fetuao  had  done  when  her 
husband  was  perishing  with  the  measles. 

"  l  Thy  long,  curly  hair/  said  Tingelau,  slowly, t  and 
I  will  make  of  it  a  head-dress  for  my  son/ 

" 1 1  will  give  thee  that  and  more,  also/  said  Java, 
with  the  tears  in  her  eyes,  for  there  was  to  her 
nothing  so  beautiful  as  her  hair. 

"  Then,  behold,  a  strange  thing  happened,  for  as  she 
knelt  before  the  wizard  and  undid  the  knot  of  her 
hair,  letting  it  tumble  over  her  bosom  like  a  cascade, 

229 


The  Devil's  White  Man 

the  old  man  touched  it  not  with  the  scissors  in  his 
hand,  no,  not  even  cutting  so  much  as  a  single  hair. 

" l  Java/  he  said,  '  thou  art  too  beautiful  to  mar. 
Some  other  girl  must  provide  a  head-dress  for  my  son, 
and  thou  shalt  return  perfect  as  thou  earnest ;  though 
I  shall  retain  the  sewing-machine  for  my  pains,  and 
from  time  to  time,  without  fail,  thou  shalt  give  me  a 
silver  dollar  until  five  be  reached.  And  for  this  small, 
insignificant  reward  I  shall  prepare  thee  a  curse  the 
like  of  which  no  wizard  ever  made  before— a  curse 
which  beside  the  other  shall  be  as  a  man  to  a  child, 
so  that  the  whole  world  shall  tremble  and  the  dead 
turn  in  their  graves.' 

"  Accordingly,  in  three  days  my  sister  returned  to 
Aleipata,  where  old  Malesa,  faithful  to  his  word, 
handed  her  the  curse  he  had  been  so  assiduously  pre 
paring.  Ah,  Siosi,  the  reading  of  it  was  enough  to 
make  one's  blood  run  cold,  and  palsy  the  hand  that 
held  the  written  sheet.  The  little  Pig-face  was  cursed 
outside  and  inside,  in  this  world  and  the  next  world, 
part  by  part,  so  that  nothing  was  forgotten,  even  to 
the  lobes  of  her  ears  and  the  joints  of  her  toes.  There 
was  nothing  of  her  but  what  was  to  be  scorched  with 
fire,  torn  away  with  pincers,  scratched,  pierced,  and 
destroyed  with  pointed  sticks  j  lo,  she  would  scream 
for  death  while  the  sharks  fought  for  her  dismember 
ing  flesh  and  squid  sucked  out  her  eyes,  no  one  being 
at  hand  to  give  her  the  least  assistance.  Java  smiled 
as  she  read  the  curse  aloud,  and  took  counsel  with 
Tu,  the  brave  and  handsome,  who  had  agreed  to  nail 
it  to  Patsy's  door. 

230 


The  Devil's  White  Man 

"  It  was  black  night  when  Tu  made  the  attempt, 
holding  the  paper  in  his  mouth  like  a  dog  as  he 
climbed  the  scratching  wall  of  wire.  At  every  moment 
Java  and  I  expected  to  hear  the  explosion  of  a  gun  or 
some  sudden  sound  of  awakening  from  within  the 
devil-house;  yet  nothing  reached  our  ears  but  the 
beating  of  our  own  anxious  hearts.  After  a  long 
while  we  heard  Tu  whispering  in  the  darkness  beside 
us,  and  our  first  thought  was  that  he  had  failed.  But 
we  were  wrong,  for  Tu  had  succeeded  in  every  way, 
and  that  with  the  utmost  secrecy  and  skill.  Then  we 
went  and  lay  behind  a  big  bush  about  a  hundred 
fathoms  inland  of  the  house,  so  that  we  might  see 
with  advantage  what  was  to  happen  in  the  morning; 
and  Java  and  I  petted  Tu,  and  talked  to  him  sweetly, 
for  he  had  a  brave  heart,  and  his  handsome  body  was 
everywhere  torn  with  the  points  of  wire. 

"  Panga  I  Siosi,  never  was  a  dawn  so  slow  to  come 
as  the  one  we  then  waited  for,  nor  any  so  bitter  and 
chill.  Our  teeth  clicked  in  our  heads,  and  though  we 
lay  closer  together  than  a  babe  to  its  nursing  mother, 
or  soldiers  to  one  another  in  the  bush,  we  nearly  died 
with  the  cold,  like  people  in  the  White  Country. 
When  at  last  the  sun  rose  in  a  haze  like  that  of  blood 
and  smoke  commingled,  we  felt,  indeed,  that  the  curse 
was  already  at  work ;  for  the  air  turned  sultry  beyond 
all  believing,  so  that  we  breathed  suffocatingly,  and 
endured  the  taste  of  matches  in  our  throats  and 
mouths.  Tu  said  prayers— very  good  prayers  and 
long,  which  he  had  learned  in  the  missionary  college 
before  he  had  been  expelled;  all  of  them  about  the 

231 


The  Devil's  White  Man 

"beauty  of  holiness  and  well-doing.  But  Java  attended 
to  none  of  these  things,  nor  seemed  to  care  whether 
we  ourselves  lived  or  died,  for  her  eyes  were  ever  on 
Patsy's  house. 

"  Patsy  himself  was  the  first  to  come  out,  leaving  the 
door  open  behind  him,  so  that  the  curse  was  unluckily 
hidden  from  his  view.  He  had  clubs  in  his  hands, 
which  he  twirled  in  the  air  as  his  manner  was  every 
morning  for  the  strengthening  of  his  arms.  After  a  few 
movements  he  called  out  to  the  little  Pig-face,  saying, 
'  Sina,  Sina,'  like  that.  t  Come  out  to  thy  work,  thou 
idle  one.'  Thereupon  she  too  appeared,  rubbing  her 
eyes,  and  in  her  hands  were  two  clubs  like  those  of 
Patsy's.  But  instead  of  leaving  open  the  door,  as  her 
partner  had  done,  she  closed  it  with  a  push  of  her 
hand,  and  lo,  the  curse  shone  white  upon  it  like  a 
splash  of  lime  on  a  dark  cloth.  At  the  sight  of  it  she 
shrieked  to  Patsy,  and  together,  side  by  side,  they 
read  what  was  there  written,  clinging  to  each  other 
with  fainting  hearts. 

"  When  Patsy  had  read  it  to  an  end,  he  uttered  a 
great,  mocking  laugh,  and  struck  the  paper  with  his 
club,  so  that  the  whole  house  shook,  and  old  Ta'a  came 
tumbling  out  like  a  scared  rat.  Then  he  laughed 
again  until  the  whole  bay  reechoed  round,  and  every 
time  he  laughed  his  voice  grew  more  shrill  and  scream 
ing,  like  that  of  a  woman  in  a  fit.  But  there  was  no 
laughter  at  all  in  the  little  Pig-face,  who  went  and  lay 
down  in  the  sand,  hiding  her  eyes  with  her  hands. 
And  old  Ta'a,  the  thief,  the  evil-hearted,  the  out- 
islander,  she  tore  down  the  curse  with  derisive  shout- 

232 


The  Devil's  White  Man 

ings,  and  danced  on  it  a  shameful  dance  which  is 
prohibited  by  the  church.  But  for  all  that,  we  could 
see  that  she  and  Patsy  were  greatly  discountenanced, 
as  well  they  might  have  been ;  for  who  could  read 
such  a  curse  without  trembling,  or  regard  with  calm 
the  smoky  air  now  thick  with  the  smell  of  matches  f 
As  for  the  little  Pig-face,  she  was  helped  inside  the 
house  like  a  drowning  person  from  the  sea,  for  her 
legs  would  no  longer  carry  her,  and  she  could  not 
breathe  for  very  terror.  The  clubs  were  left  un 
touched  where  they  had  fallen  ;  and  when  Patsy  and 
Ta'a  had  carried  Sina  into  the  devil-house  they  shut 
the  door  and  locked  themselves  within. 

"  I  don't  know  how  long  it  was  after  this  that  we  lay 
still  spying  from  our  tfa,  but  it  seemed  to  me  like  the 
space  of  many  hours.  For  my  part,  I  should  have 
gladly  returned  home,  for  I  was  gnawed  with  hunger, 
and  stiff  with  the  cold  night  watching ;  so  also  was 
Tu,  who  spoke  piteously  of  his  love  for  Java,  and  how 
it  might  be  the  means,  through  this  lawless  dabbling 
with  the  unseen  world,  of  cutting  him  off  in  his  prime. 
But  so  rock-like  was  Java's  heart,  so  fierce  the 
flame  of  her  revenge,  that  she  had  no  compassion  for 
this  beautiful  young  man,  nor  a  single  word  for  the 
comfort  of  his  spirit.  With  her  burning  eyes  fixed  on 
Patsy's  house,  she  lay  motionless  on  the  ground  like 
a  dead  person,  her  only  thought  to  see  the  curse 
accomplished. 

"  Suddenly  we  were  startled  by  a  peal  of  thunder  j 
low  at  first,  and  then  tumultuously  rising,  which,  with 
repeated  explosions  like  those  of  cannon,  seemed  to 

233 


The  Devil's  White  Man 

shake  the  island  to  its  bottommost  roots.  We 
jumped  to  our  feet,  clinging  wildly  to  one  another, 
while  the  earth  shook  under  us  like  the  sea,  and  the 
skies  above  were  rent  with  a  thousand  burstings. 
Even  as  we  stood  there,  swaying  and  horror-stricken, 
I  felt  Java's  fingers  tighten  on  my  arm  and  heard  her 
voice  in  my  ear,  crying,  '  Look,  look ! '  And  behold ! 
what  did  I  see  but  Patsy's  house  rising  in  the  air  and 
darting  seaward  at  the  tail  of  the  great  rope,  which, 
hand  over  fist,  the  devil  was  now  pulling  in  from  hell. 
The  rope  was  covered  with  long,  green  sea-grass,  and 
all  manner  of  curious  shells,  which  sparkled  and 
twisted  in  the  sun ;  and  it  went  thus  in  jumps,  like 
the  crackling  of  a  mighty  whip ;  and  with  every  jerk 
the  house  skimmed  forward  like  a  boatswain-bird, 
showing  us  at  a  broken  window  the  faces  of  the  ac 
cursed,  who  with  frenzied  movements  climbed  the  one 
above  the  other,  striving  to  escape  like  a  tangle  of 
worms  in  a  pot,  each  one  pushing  away  the  other, 
until  at  last  the  water  closed  over  them  all.  And 
from  that  day  to  this,  Siosi,  nothing  has  ever  been 
seen  of  Ta'a,  nor  of  Sina,  nor  of  the  devil's  white 
man." 


234 


THE  PHANTOM   CITY 


THE   PHANTOM   CITY 

OD  has  sent  you  to  the  right  place  here,"  said 
Father  Studby,  solemnly,  to  the  lay  brother. 
"  Life  in  Lauli'i  flows  in  the  same  channel,  day  by  day, 
year  by  year,  so  that  we  wonder  to  grow  old  and  are 
surprised  to  see  our  changing  faces  in  the  glass.  When 
we  think,  it  is  of  the  goodness  of  God ;  when  we  fear, 
it  is  for  the  sick  or  for  the  machinations  of  the  Evil 
One.  Our  little  bay  is  a  monastery,  remote  from  all 
the  passions  and  fevers  of  mankind ;  and  the  people 
we  live  among  are  pleasant  children,  naive,  gay,  and 
pious." 

"You  must  not  consider  me  a  sick  man,"  said 
Brother  Michael,  with  his  dark  smile.  "I  am  worn 
out  with  teaching,  and  the  hot  bustle  of  Nukualofa. 
The  doctor  said  I  needed  rest,  that  I  needed  peace  and 
fresh  air,  and  the  bishop  has  sent  me  here  to  get  them." 

"In  Nukualofa,"  said  the  old  priest,  who  enter 
tained  a  partisan's  contempt  for  the  neighbouring 
island,  "in  Nukualofa  they  do  not  know  the  meaning 
of  those  words.  They  exist  in  a  frenzy  of  excitement, 
amid  the  intrigues  of  three  conflicting  nationalities ; 
one's  ear  is  dinned  with  rumours  ;  and  one  wearies  with 
the  very  names  of  consuls  and  captains.  One  cannot 
take  a  walk  without  beholding  a  fresh  proclamation 
on  a  cocoanut-tree,  or  turn  round  without  oifending 

237 


The  Phantom  City 

some  preposterous  regulation.  The  natives  wear 
trousers  and  drink  whisky  j  they  model  themselves  on 
the  dissolute  whites  set  over  them,  and  degenerate  as 
rapidly  as  their  masters." 

"  I  never  could  see  what  people  found  to  like  in  the 
natives/'  said  the  lay  brother.  "  I  dare  say  they  are 
good  enough  in  their  way,  and  fill  a  necessary  place  in 
the  world,  but  to  me  they  are  greasy  and  offensive." 

"Ah,  but  you  have  never  seen  the  true  Samoan," 
exclaimed  the  priest.  "Here  it  is  so  different  from 
Nukualofa.  Here  our  people  are  better  born  j  here 
they  are  self-respecting,  honest,  and  kind;  here  you 
will  see  at  once  an  astonishing  contrast  to  those  you 
have  left." 

Once  launched  on  his  favourite  topic,  the  superiority 
of  Lauli'i  to  all  the  villages  of  the  group,  the  old 
missionary  knew  not  when  to  stop,  and  his  intermi 
nable  tongue  ran  on  in  an  unceasing  harangue.  The 
new-comer  listened  with  a  sort  of  detachment,  as  he 
might  have  done  to  some  strange  parrot  screaming 
in  a  zoo,  assenting  by  perfunctory  nods  to  that  long 
tale  of  Samoan  virtue,  religion,  and  generosity.  His 
black  eyes  ranged  about  the  room  and  through  the 
open  window  at  its  back,  where,  within  a  distance  of  a 
dozen  yards,  a  little  church  half  barred  the  vista  of 
peaks  and  forest.  Still  talking,  Father  Studby  led  him 
away  to  see  it,  this  scene  of  his  professional  life  which 
had  been  raised,  stone  upon  stone,  by  his  own  assiduous 
hands.  The  lay  brother  was  shown  the  altar,  with  its 
artless  decoration  of  tissue-paper  flowers ;  the  pulpit 
inlaid  with  pearl-shell ;  the  sacramental  vessels  in 

238 


The  Phantom  City 

their  wrappings  of  tapa-cloth.  The  father  seated 
himself  at  a  crazy  harmonium,  which  was  planted  on 
the  sandy  floor  like  some  derelict  cast  up  by  the  sea, 
and  ran  his  fingers  over  the  yellow  keys.  He  played, 
after  a  manner,  with  considerable  skill  and  vivacity, 
his  preference  being  for  the  sentimental  ballads  of  his 
youth,  and  the  dance-music  which  had  then  been  in 
fashion.  It  was  strange  to  hear  these  old  waltzes,  so 
long  dead  and  forgotten,  coming  to  life  again  in  that 
darkened  chapel  and  from  the  hands  of  such  a  player. 
The  lay  brother  leaned  against  an  open  window,  from 
which  there  was  a  wonderful  view  of  wooded  moun 
tains  half  screened  in  mist,  and  sighed  moodily  as  he 
gazed  about  him.  Under  the  spell  of  those  swaying 
measures,  his  heart  returned  to  the  Australian  plains 
where  he  had  been  born,  and  he  felt  himself,  indeed, 
an  exile. 

On  leaving  the  church,  the  father  took  him  on  a  lit 
tle  tour  of  the  garden  :  showed  him  the  cemented  oven 
where  the  bread  was  baked,  the  roofed-in  spring,  the 
hives,  the  cow,  the  imported  cock,  everything,  in  fact, 
down  to  the  grindstone  and  the  rusty  scythe. 

Michael  followed  as  in  duty  bound  5  asked  the 
proper  questions ;  showed  everywhere  a  becoming 
interest;  endured  it  all  with  propriety.  He  asked 
his  host  many  questions,  some  of  them  the  inspiration 
of  mere  politeness,  such  as  the  best  food  for  chickens, 
and  the  precautions  to  be  taken  in  handling  bees; 
others,  in  which  he  seemed  more  genuinely  con 
cerned,  as  to  the  nature  of  the  inland  country  and  its 
resources.  He  was  surprised  to  hear  that  the  island 

239 


The  Phantom  City 

had  only  once  been  crossed  by  whites :  he  was  impa 
tient  of  the  priest's  statement  that  it  did  not  greatly 
matter,  as  the  natives  suffered  in  social  consideration 
by  living  too  far  from  the  sea,  and  were,  besides,  bet 
ter  off  for  the  fish  it  afforded  and  the  easy  means  at 
communication. 

"  There  are  other  things  in  Samoa  besides  Samoans/ 
exclaimed  Brother  Michael,  with  a  disdain  that  he 
conld  bnt  ill  conceal.  uHere  is  an  island  scarcely 
forty  miles  wide,  which  apparently  has  only  once 
been  crossed  in  the  memory  of  living  man.  Why, 
the  thing  stirs  the  imagination ;  it  makes  the  blood 
tingle  in  one's  veins;  it  makes  one  speculate  on  a 
thousand  possibilities.  In  those  secluded  depths  there 
may  be  the  ruins  of  ancient  cities ;  mouldering  tombs 
covered  with  hieroglyphs ;  perhaps  even  another  ram 
still  surviving  in  those  inner  valleys!  There  may 
be  whole  forests  of  sandalwood,  beds  of  fine  coal,  de 
posits  of  rich  ores.  Who  knows,  but  there  may  be 
gold!" 

Father  Studby  crossed  himself. 

"God  forbid,"  he  said. 

uYou  must  remember,**  he  went  on,  "that  every 
village  has  some  knowledge  of  the  land  behind  it,  and 
if  you  could  combine  what  they  know  you  would  fiud 
that  the  interior  is  not  such  a  mystery  as  you  imagine ; 
though,  of  course,  there  may  be  tracts  which  have 
never  yet  been  penetrated  by  a  white  man.  At  one 
time  and  another  I  have  been  many  miles  inland  of 
Lauli'i,  but  I  never  got  so  far  but  what  every  gully  had 
a  name,  every  acre  an  owner.  Why  our  people  should 

240 


The  Phantom  City 

dispute  among  themselves  for  such  blocks  of  worth 
less  forest  and  rock  is  a  tiling  beyond  my  compre 
hension  ;  but  as  a  matter  of  fact  they  do  attach  an 
inordinate  value  to  them,  and  it  would  astound  you 
to  find  how  exactly  the  boundaries  are  remembered." 

"  You  interest  me  immensely/'  said  the  lay  brother. 
"  I  see  that  you  can  tell  me  everything  I  want  to 
know,  and  I  congratulate  myself  again  that  my  lucky 
star  has  brought  me  to  your  door.  In  Nukualofa 
they  could  not  answer  half  my  questions/7 

"  In  Nukualofa,"  said  Father  Studby,  bitterly,  "  they 
know  nothing,— less  than  nothing,— for  they  mislead 
you  and  tell  you  lies.  The  natives  there,  besides,  are 
of  a  low  stock,  interbred  with  out-islanders  and  without 
an  ancestry  among  them.  You  will  look  in  vain  for 
such  a  man  as  our  Maunga,  who  goes  back  seventeen 
generations  to  the  legendary  Fasito'o,  or  a  family  such 
as  the  Sa  Satupaiala,  who  have  what  you  might 
almost  call  a  special  language  of  their  own.  They 
die,  they  spit,  they  moor  a  boat,  they  steal  breadfruit, 
they  commit  adultery,  all  in  different  words  from  those 
commonly  employed.  It  has  been  my  pleasure,  you 
might  almost  call  it  my  folly,  to  absorb  myself  in  such 
studies.  I  am  afraid  you  will  find  me  nothing  more 
than  an  old  Kanaka  pundit,  with  my  cracked  head 
full  of  legends  and  ancient  songs." 

The  priest  saw  very  little  of  his  guest,  who  followed 
the  doctor's  prescription  of  fresh  air  with  a  literal- 
ness  that  made  him  almost  a  stranger  in  the  house. 
Every  morning,  after  participating  in  the  service  in 
the  little  church,  Brother  Michael  would  take  his  gun 

241 


The  Phantom  City 

and  disappear  for  the  day,  returning  at  sundown  with 
what  pigeons  he  had  shot,  and  an  appetite  that 
played  havoc  with  his  host's  frugal  housekeeping. 
He  would  eat  a  pound  of  meat  at  a  sitting,  make 
way  with  an  entire  loaf  of  bread,  and  thought  no 
thing  of  helping  himself  four  times  to  marmalade,  in 
spite  of  the  father's  disapproving  looks,  and  the  cal 
culated  contrast  of  his  bare  plate.  In  the  light  of  that 
frightful  inroad  on  his  provisions,  Father  Studby's 
good  opinion  of  the  stranger  began  to  change  into 
a  sentiment  approaching  aversion,  and  it  seemed  to 
him  an  added  injury  that  the  young  man  would  no 
longer  eat  his  own  pigeons,  insisting,  with  gross  self- 
indulgence,  on  an  unending  succession  of  chicken, 
ham,  and  costly  preserves.  He  said  that  taro  gave 
him  heartburn,  evoked  the  physician's  ban  on  all 
native  food,  and  demanded,  on  the  same  shadowy 
authority,  a  daily  ration  of  brandy  from  the  father's 
slender  stock.  It  was  hard  on  the  old  missionary, 
who  was  abstemious  to  a  degree  and  seldom  allowed 
himself  the  comfort  of  a  dram,  to  pour  his  liquor 
down  that  insatiable  throat,  and  be  condemned  to  hold 
the  bottle,  while  the  other  smacked  his  lips  like  a 
beach-comber  in  a  bar,  in  no  wise  ashamed  to  drink 
alone.  The  bottle,  too,  until  it  was  placed  under  lock 
and  key,  showed  a  tendency  to  decline  unduly,  and 
even  biscuit  and  sardines  were  not  exempt  from  a 
similar  and  no  less  exasperating  shrinkage.  And 
then,  in  his  religious  exercises  the  lay  brother  be 
trayed  a  disheartening  coldness,  and  what  spiritual 
fire  had  ever  been  in  him  seemed  smothered  over 

242 


The  Phantom  City 

with  torpor  and  indifference.  His  vocation  meant 
no  more  to  him  than  a  means  to  live.  He  yawned 
at  mass,  nodded  intermittently  through  the  priest's 
interminable  sermons,  and  when  it  was  proposed 
that  he  should  take  temporary  charge  of  the  school  he 
did  not  hesitate  for  a  moment  to  refuse. 

Of  course,  a  word  to  Nukualofa  would  have  speedily 
rid  Father  Studby  of  his  guest ;  he  had  only  to  write, 
to  expostulate,  and  the  thing  was  done.  More  than 
once,  under  the  influence  of  some  particular  indigna 
tion,  he  had  set  himself  to  the  task.  But  he  had  never 
got  beyond  the  first  few  lines  before  his  natural  gene 
rosity  reasserted  itself.  Who  was  he,  that  he  should 
make  himself  the  young  man's  judge  j  that  he  should 
help,  perhaps,  to  mar  prospects  none  too  bright,  and 
throw  the  last  stone  at  one  already  tottering  to  his 
fall  ?  Besides,  were  the  grounds  of  his  objection  as 
sincere  as  he  imagined?  Was  he  not  meanly  con 
demning  the  lay  brother  for  his  appetite,  for  the  hole 
that  he  was  making  in  that  dwindling  larder,  rather 
than  for  his  lack  of  religious  conviction  which  at 
times  seemed  so  shocking  ?  After  all,  was  it  not  natural 
for  a  young  man  to  eat  well,  to  help  himself  unchecked 
to  marmalade,  to  devour  expensive  tinned  meats  like 
a  wolf?  It  was  the  result  of  those  immense  walks, 
ordered  by  the  doctor,  to  which  Michael  so  assiduously 
applied  himself.  Was  there  not  something  even  ad 
mirable  in  so  strict  an  obedience  to  hygiene,  especially 
in  one  constitutionally  slothful  and  self-indulgent  ? 

One  afternoon  Michael  returned  from  his  walk  in  a 
state  of  high  excitement.  His  black  eyes  were  burn- 

243 


The  Phantom  City 

ing,  and  for  once,  contrary  to  his  usual  habit,  he  was  ex 
traordinarily  noisy  and  talkative.  He  kept  breaking 
out  into  wild  laughter,  even  when  not  a  word  was  said, 
and  seemed  to  possess,  buried  somewhere  within  him, 
the  secret  of  an  unextinguishable  entertainment.  In 
stead  of  dozing  after  supper  in  his  chair,  he  grew,  if 
anything,  wider  awake  than  ever,  and  his  hilarity 
continued  with  a  kind  of  violence.  Father  Studby 
was  carried  off  his  feet  by  that  wave  of  gaiety ;  he  felt 
the  contagion  of  that  singular  fever  which  had  so 
transformed  his  companion;  he,  too,  laughed  at 
nothing,  and  found  himself  talking  with  an  animation 
that  he  could  not  remember  to  have  displayed  for 
years.  But  with  it  all  he  had  an  unaccountable  sense 
of  suspicion,  of  being  on  his  guard  against  something, 
he  knew  not  what,  of  some  pitfall  yawning  for  his  un 
wary  feet.  He  felt  that  he  was  watched ;  that  those 
strange,  mocking  eyes  of  his  companion  were  mutely 
tempting  him  to  evil  j  at  times  he  almost  wondered 
whether  the  dark  lay  brother  were  not  the  devil  him 
self. 

The  young  man's  talk  was  rambling  and  inconse 
quent,  a  mere  rattle  of  autobiography,  punctuated 
with  laughter.  He  had  much  to  say  of  his  college 
days ;  his  penury ;  his  struggles ;  his  shabby  make 
shifts  ;  the  pranks  he  and  his  companions  had  played 
on  the  professors.  He  roared  as  he  recalled  them, 
and  hammered  the  table  with  his  fist.  He  spoke  of 
his  mother  and  her  hard  life ;  the  ne'er-do-well  father ; 
the  brother  that  drank ;  the  sister  with  the  hip  disease. 
And  from  that  again  to  the  price  of  native  land,  the 

244 


The  Phantom  City 

way  to  secure  good  titles,  the  need,  as  he  had  been 
told,  to  buy  the  same  property  from  a  dozen  conflict 
ing  owners.  Then  he  broke  out  about  the  power  of 
money,  the  unlimited  power  of  money,  the  lawlessness 
of  money  in  unprincipled  hands  j  the  way  it  could  buy 
everything  the  world  had  to  offer,  social  position,  beau 
tiful  women,  the  entree  to  great  houses.  With  money, 
what  could  a  man  ask  for  in  vain !  In  this  world,  he 
meant,  of  course— in  this  world.  In  the  next,  thank 
God,  it  would  be  different  j  the  rich  would  pay  through 
the  nose  then  for  their  pleasures.  But  some  of  them 
perhaps  would  not  repent  it  j  the  most  would  be  as 
bad  again,  if  only  the  chance  were  offered ;  the  dogs 
would  return  to  their  vomit. 

Father  Studby  listened  to  these  confidences  with 
amazement  j  they  depressed  and  angered  him  unspeak 
ably;  they  seemed  to  disclose  in  his  companion  a 
cynicism  and  a  moral  deficiency  that  he  had  not 
previously  suspected.  He  felt,  too,  as  he  had  never  felt 
before,  the  full  horror  of  that  brutal  civilisation,  so 
merciless,  so  inexorable,  its  obliterating  march  whit 
ened  with  the  bones  of  thousands ;  everything  with  its 
price,  even  to  the  honour  of  shrinking  women  and  the 
corpses  of  the  dead.  If  you  had  no  money  the  wheels 
rolled  over  you  j  if  you  had  no  money  you  sank  and 
died.  There  was  no  one  to  help,  no  one  to  pity ;  all 
were  scrambling  horribly  to  save  themselves  on  the 
shoulders  of  those  below.  What  a  contrast  to  the  calm 
of  that  Samoan  life,  primitive,  kindly,  and  religious, 
in  which  accursed  money  was  unknown  !  He  was  led 
to  declaim  hotly  on  the  high  breeding  and  chiv- 

245 


The  Phantom  City 

airy  of  these  misjudged  people,  and  protested  that  they 
had  more  to  teach  than  to  learn.  Where,  he  demanded 
of  the  lay  brother,  could  one  find  such  hearts  as  these  1 
where  such  brave  men  and  compassionate  women? 
where  else  a  land  with  neither  rich  nor  poor  ?  Here, 
if  one  starved,  all  starved ;  here,  if  need  be,  the  last 
banana  was  divided  into  a  hundred  pieces ;  here  they 
would  all  take  shame  if  a  single  child  went  hungry. 

The  old  priest  went  on  and  on  with  his  tale  of 
Samoan  virtue,  of  Samoan  superiority.  God  had 
never  made  such  a  people ;  there  was  in  them  the  seed 
that  would  regenerate  the  world.  There  was  nothing 
in  which  they  did  not  excel.  He  carried  his  reluctant 
hearer  into  the  mazes  of  native  poetry ;  he  repeated 
hundreds  of  lines  in  his  resounding  voice,  blowing  out 
clouds  of  tobacco  smoke  between  each  stanza.  Where, 
he  asked,  were  the  whites  who  could  match  such 
things  as  these ;  who  could  bring  the  tears  to  your 
eyes  or  convulse  you  with  laughter  at  will?  He 
would  repeat  that  last  verse,  if  his  companion  did  not 
mind  j  it  described  how  To,  wandering  on  the  sea-shore 
at  dawn,  met  Tingalau  returning  from  his  fishing, 
and  led  on  to  twenty  stanzas  more  of  what  To  said  to 
Tingalau,  and  Tingalau  to  To  ! 

Michael  lay  back  in  his  chair,  scarce  heeding  the 
soft  gibberish  that  to  him  meant  nothing.  He  was 
living  in  a  tumult  of  his  own  thoughts— thoughts  in 
which  Kanaka  poetry  had  no  part,  though  the  priest 
himself  was  sometimes  present,  but  whether  as  a 
friend  or  foe  he  could  not  yet  determine ;  and  while 
he  wondered  and  conjectured  the  old  man  himself 

246 


The  Phantom  City 

seemed  to  disappear  in  his  own  smoke,  until  nothing 
remained  of  him  but  a  faint,  passionate  buzzing,  like 
that  of  a  bumblebee  in  a  field. 

The  next  day  Michael  was  up  and  gone  before  day 
break,  and  the  little  service  in  the  church  proceeded 
for  once  without  him.  The  father  was  vexed  at  such 
remissness,  and  tolled  the  bell  with  pious  indignation. 
Was  the  young  man  no  better  than  a  heathen,  thus  to 
scamp  God's  morning  hour— to  attend  so  grossly  to 
the  fleshly  needs  and  let  the  soul  go  wanting?  De 
pend  upon  it,  he  had  not  left  without  something  to 
stay  his  stomach,  though  God's  claim  on  him  might 
wait.  The  priest  turned  a  cold  face  to  his  guest  when 
the  latter  returned  at  dusk  with  the  invariable  pigeons 
in  his  hand.  But  Michael  was  too  tired  to  notice 
these  altered  looks,  nor  did  he  seem  concerned  when 
at  last  his  delinquency  was  pointed  out  to  him  in 
no  uncertain  words.  His  church,  he  answered,  with 
mocking  defiance,  his  church  was  in  the  woods,  at  the 
foot  of  a  towering  banyan,  or  in  some  dim  recess  be 
side  a  stream;  he  knelt  when  the  impulse  came  to 
him,  like  some  primitive  monk  wandering  with  God 
in  the  wilds.  The  priest  received  this  explanation 
with  a  dubious  silence ;  he  was  not  at  all  satisfied  with 
its  truth,  and  yet  scarcely  knew  what  to  reply,  feeling 
himself  helpless  and  outwitted.  He  was  almost  glad 
that  the  pigeons,  still  lying  on  the  floor,  gave  him  an 
obvious  excuse  to  leave  the  room. 

"  The  chief  has  done  well  to-day ,"  he  said  to  Ngalo, 
his  servant. 

The  boy  laughed. 

247 


The  Phantom  City 

"  Excellency,"  he  said,  "  the  Helper  does  not  shoot 
these  pigeons.  He  buys  them  for  sixpences  from  our 
people." 

"  Impossible  !  "  cried  the  old  man.  "  Thou  talkest 
like  a  delirious  person." 

"  Excellency,"  said  the  boy,  "  saving  thy  presence, 
the  Helper  lies.  Behold  in  this  pigeon  the  truth  of 
what  I  say.  Does  the  chief  use  gravel  in  his  gun,  like 
a  Samoan,  to  whom  there  is  no  lead  ? " 

"  Perhaps  he  does,"  said  the  priest.  "  Such  a  thing 
had  not  occurred  to  me." 

"  Perhaps  he  does  not,"  exclaimed  Ngalo,  meaningly. 
"  On  Tuesday  he  bought  eight  birds  of  my  mother's 
brother's  son  ;  one  was  scented  and  had  to  be  thrown 
away." 

"  Ngalo,"  cried  the  priest,  with  a  sudden  change  of 
tone,  "is  there  a  woman  in  this  hidden  business?  Is 
there  gossip  in  the  village  ? " 

Ngalo  shook  his  head. 

"He  is  blameless  of  such  an  evil,"  he  said.  "But 
the  village  talks  continually,  and  the  people  ask, 
'What  does  the  Helper  in  the  bush?'" 

Father  Studby  breathed  a  great  sigh  of  relief. 

"He  walks  about,"  he  explained,  "this  way  and 
that,  according  to  the  command  of  the  wise  doctor 
in  Nukualofa.  The  peace  refreshes  him  and  makes 
him  well.  I,  too,  in  my  youth,  used  to  wander  in  the 
mountains  and  find  consolation." 

Ngalo's  face  showed  that  he  had  more  to  tell. 

"The  Helper  does  strange  things,"  he  said.  "He 
goes  along,  even  as  you  say,  through  the  village  and 

248 


The  Phantom  City 

the  outlying  plantations  like  an  uncaring  child,  with 
no  purpose  in  what  it  does.  But  when  he  reaches  a 
certain  ift-tree  on  the  land  we  call  Lefoa,  behold,  all 
is  changed.  He  stops,  he  looks  about,  he  listens  as 
siduously  like  a  warrior  on  the  outpost.  Then  he  puts 
his  gun  in  a  hidden  place,  and  with  it  his  shot-bottle 
and  his  powder-bottle ;  then  he  girds  up  his  dress  to 
the  knee,  and  runs  into  the  bush  with  the  swiftness  of 
a  dog.  When  he  returns,  late  in  the  afternoon,  it  is 
with  the  same  quickness  until  the  tree  is  reached. 
There  he  takes  breath,  composes  himself,  and  with 
slow  steps  returns  seaward  buying  what  pigeons  he 
can  on  the  road." 

"Well,  and  what  else,  Mr.  Make-the-News ? "  de 
manded  the  father,  as  Ngalo  hesitated. 

"  There  are  those  in  the  village  who  know  nothing," 
he  went  on,  "mere  worthless  heathen  of  no  family, 
without  consideration  or  land  of  their  own,  living 
meanly  like  slaves  on  the  bounty  of  others,  who  say 
strenuously,  with  the  persistency  of  barking  dogs,  that 
the  Helper  is  under  the  spell  of  Saumaiaf  e  !  n 

The  priest  stamped  his  foot  with  anger.  Was  that 
superstition  never  to  die?  Saumaiaf  e,  the  fabled 
witch,  who,  in  the  guise  of  a  beautiful  woman,  lured 
men  to  ruin  in  the  bush  !  Saumaiaf  e,  that  intolerable 
myth  with  which  he  had  been  combating  for  more 
than  eighteen  years  !  Saumaiafe  ! 

" Thou  art  a  fool !  "  he  cried.  "You  are  all  fools. 
Sometimes  I  feel  as  though  I  had  spent  my  life  in  vain. 
I,  too,  was  a  fool  to  ever  think  you  teachable." 

"  Your  Excellency  is  right,"  said  Ngalo.     "  It  is  an 

249 


The  Phantom  City 

unendurable  village  altogether,  and  ignorant  beyond 
anything  before  conceived.  Indeed,  so  weak  are 
men's  hearts  in  this  matter  of  Saumaiafe  and  the 
Helper  that  none  now  go  into  the  bush,  even  those 
who  are  distressed  for  bamboo,  or  for  red  clay  with 
which  to  beautify  their  hair." 

The  priest  turned  away  without  a  word.  He  was 
almost  inclined  to  laugh  as  he  went  back  to  the  other 
room,  and  to  tell  the  lay  brother  the  commotion  his 
actions  had  excited.  But  the  sight  of  Michael's  face 
somehow  daunted  him  j  those  suspicious,  bloodshot 
eyes  suggested  dangers  that  he  was  at  a  loss  to  name. 
He  remembered  the  hiding  of  the  gun ;  the  strange 
deceit  about  the  pigeons  j  he  seemed  to  see  the  young 
man  kilting  up  his  cassock  and  plunging  furtively  into 
the  dark  forest.  What  did  it  all  mean  ?  he  asked  him 
self  again  and  again.  Mercy  of  God,  what  did  it  mean  ? 

That  night  he  slept  but  little.  He  tossed  on  his 
hot  bed,  and  whether  he  lay  on  this  side  or  on  that, 
the  same  question  dinned  in  his  ears  without  cessa 
tion.  He  was  tortured  by  thoughts  of  hidden  wicked 
ness  in  the  bush ;  mysteries  of  evil  in  rocky  denies,  in 
caves  beside  great  waterfalls.  He  rose  and  went  out 
into  the  starlight,  reproaching  himself  for  his  foolish 
ness  ;  and  even  as  he  did  so,  Brother  Michael's  even 
breathing  thrilled  on  his  ears  like  a  vindication. 
When  all  was  said,  what  was  it  that  he  feared  for  the 
young  man  ?  What  could  an  old  priest  fear  but  the 
one  thing— a  woman  ?  And  what  woman,  he  asked 
himself,  however  dissolute  or  abandoned,  would  ven 
ture  alone  into  those  haunted  woods?  He  could 

250 


The  Phantom  City 

trust  superstition  to  keep  the  wickedest  from  such  a 
course.  Had  he  indeed  become  such  an  old  Kanaka, 
that  even  he,  Father  Studby,  was  to  credit  the  exis 
tence  of  the  witch,  roving  in  her  naked  beauty,  a  peril 
to  white  lay  brothers  ?  Perish  the  thought,  so  degrad 
ing  and  childish  !  Assuredly  it  was  not  Saumaiaf  e  he 
had  to  fear. 

He  got  to  bed  again,  and  waited  with  open  eyes  for 
the  approach  of  day.  As  the  cocks  began  to  crow, 
he  heard,  with  a  sudden  sinking  of  the  heart,  the 
sound  of  the  lay  brother  stirring  in  the  next  room ; 
heard  him  dress  and  go  stealthily  out,  shaking  the 
verandah  under  his  heavy  tread. 

Mercy  of  God,  what  did  it  all  mean  1 

Morning  after  morning  he  asked  himself  the  same 
question,  as  the  mysterious  routine  continued  with  un 
abated  regularity ;  and  the  thought  of  it  haunted  him 
persistently  throughout  the  day  as  he  tried  to  fix  his 
mind  on  other  things.  Evening  after  evening  he  saw 
the  young  man  return  with  his  tired  face,  the  pigeons 
so  ambiguously  obtained,  the  gun  that  had  never  been 
fired.  They  would  eat  their  silent  meal  together,  and 
then  Michael  would  doze  in  his  chair  till  bedtime. 
On  Sunday,  the  only  day  he  remained  at  home,  the  lay 
brother  resigned  himself  to  the  unavoidable  services 
of  religion,  going  with  the  father  to  mass,  and  assist 
ing,  by  his  presence  at  least,  the  cause  to  which  they 
had  both  pledged  their  lives.  The  few  hours  of  his 
leisure  were  spent  at  a  little  lock-fast  desk  j  and  the 
nature  of  this  correspondence  became  the  second  mys 
tery  of  his  singular  and  baffling  life.  Once,  looking 


The  Phantom  City 

up  from  his  half -written  page,  he  asked  the  priest  how 
many  feet  went  to  a  mile.  On  another  occasion  he 
inquired  as  to  the  soundings  of  the  bay,  and  the  most 
likely  point  for  a  steamship  pier.  Steamship  piers, 
and  feet  in  miles !  Miles  of  what  ?  Whose  steam 
ships,  and  what  was  there  to  bring  them  ?  Mercy  of 
God,  what  did  it  all  mean  ? 

In  the  beginning,  when  Father  Studby  had  first 
begun  to  suspect  he  knew  not  what,  to  worry,  to  ask 
himself  importunate  questions,  a  way  had  occurred  to 
him— a  way  not  altogether  honourable  nor  dignified— 
which  could  not  fail  to  lead  to  some  elucidation  of  the 
mystery.  He  had  put  it  behind  him  with  decision,  as 
unworthy  of  himself  and  his  reputation.  What! 
act  the  spy  and  follow  the  young  man  ?  See  with  his 
own  eyes,  from  the  vantage  of  some  thick  fern  or 
bush,  the  nature  of  that  strange  tryst  ?  No ;  let  him 
keep  his  honour,  even  if  curiosity  went  unsatisfied- 
even  if  that  same  curiosity  were  not  wholly  bad,  but 
inspired  by  a  genuine  regard  for  the  young  brother's 
welfare,  for  which,  as  the  elder  of  the  two,  he  was  in 
some  degree  responsible.  It  was  only  right  to  hold 
out  your  hand  to  a  sinking  man.  But  could  the  lay 
brother  be  called  a  sinking  man  ?  Ah,  if  one  could  be 
sure  of  that,  how  much  might  be  pardoned ! 

One  morning  Father  Studby  could  bear  it  no 
longer.  As  the  boards  creaked  in  the  next  room,  he, 
too,  rose  and  dressed  himself,  trembling  as  he  did  so 
with  a  sense  of  guilt.  When  the  front  door  at  length 
closed  on  the  lay  brother,  and  his  quick  step  was  heard 
on  the  path  outside,  Father  Studby  found  himself  on 

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The  Phantom  City 

the  verandah,  looking  after  him  in  the  dawn.  He 
would  have  followed ;  he  even  took  a  few  steps  down 
the  hill.  But  the  folly  of  such  a  course  was  at  once 
apparent.  To  act  the  detective,  one  must  one's  self 
remain  undiscovered.  Yet  how  could  he  hope  to  elude 
observation  and  keep  on  Brother  Michael's  heels  all 
through  the  open  village  and  the  wide  malae  ¥  It  was 
manifestly  impossible.  In  the  forest  it  might  be  differ 
ent  ;  yes,  in  the  forest,  crouching  in  the  thick  under 
growth,  it  would  not  be  so  hard  to  track  a  man  down. 
The  next  night,  which  happened  to  be  one  of  a 
moon  almost  full,  the  father  lay  down  ready  dressed 
for  a  new  adventure.  A  little  after  one  o'clock,  he 
rose,  crossed  himself,  and  cautiously  quitted  the  house, 
making  his  way  through  the  sleeping  village  to  the 
path  across  the  swamp.  This  he  followed,  slipping  on 
the  sodden  tree-trunks  that  served  as  bridges,  until  he 
attained  the  farther  region  of  cocoanut,  banana,  and 
breadfruit  plantations.  These  were  in  a  choking 
tangle  of  weeds  and  lianas ;  trees  thirty  feet  in  height 
bent  under  their  weight  of  parasites;  others,  still 
higher,  were  altogether  overwhelmed  and  lost  to  view 
in  a  wall  of  green;  and  in  the  forks  of  the  giant 
breadfruits  orchids  were  sprouting  like  the  scabs  of 
some  foul  disease.  Keeping  with  difficulty  on  the  half- 
obliterated  track,  the  priest  toiled  slowly  and  painfully 
through  this  belt  of  so-called  cultivation,  from  which, 
indeed,  the  village  drew  no  considerable  portion  of  its 
sustenance,  until  at  last  he  reached  the  welcome  shel 
ter  of  the  forest.  In  contrast  to  the  zone  through 
which  he  had  just  emerged,  opened  by  man  to  the 

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The  Phantom  City 

furious  energy  of  the  sun,  the  forest  floor  itself, 
densely  shaded  from  this  fecundating  fire,  was  com 
paratively  open  and  easy  to  penetrate.  It  was  dark, 
of  course,  dark  as  the  inside  of  a  well ;  and  the  father 
stopped  and  lighted  the  lantern  he  carried  in  his  hand. 
He  peered  about  him,  blinded  by  the  glare,  and  uncer 
tain  for  the  first  time  as  to  his  road.  Yes,  he  had  not 
been  misguided ;  he  could  trust  the  instinct  of  eigh 
teen  years  to  steer  him  through  these  labyrinths. 
Here,  indeed,  was  the  ifi-tree  of  which  Ngalo  had  told 
him,  with  its  low,  spreading  foliage  that  had  so  often 
concealed  Michael's  gun.  At  the  thought  of  the  lay 
brother  his  heart  began  to  beat,  and  he  crossed  him 
self  repeatedly. 

He  paced  off  seven,  eight,  nine,  ten  yards  from  the 
trunk  of  the  ifi;  and  his  feet  at  that  distance  carried 
him  into  a  thicket  of  fern  and  wild  bananas.  He  blew 
out  the  lantern,  and  settled  himself  in  the  damp  am 
bush  so  providentially  at  hand,  drawing  the  big  leaves 
over  his  head  until  he  could  no  longer  see  the  stars. 
From  two  o'clock— for  such  he  judged  the  hour  when 
he  first  took  up  his  station  in  the  ferns— from  two 
o'clock  till  five  he  remained  huddled  in  his  green 
lair,  praying  at  intervals,  and  counting  the  intermi 
nable  minutes  to  dawn.  With  the  first  peep  of  day  his 
impatience  turned  no  less  swiftly  into  dread.  What 
had  tempted  him  to  such  madness,  such  dishonour? 
What  if  he  should  be  discovered  in  this  shameful  nest, 
and  incontinently  revealed  to  the  jeers  and  laughter 
of  the  man  he  thought  to  track  down  ?  What  if  the 
lay  brother,  turning  a  little  aside,  should  stumble 

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The  Phantom  City 

over  his  cramped  and  aching  body  ?  Explain  I  How 
could  he  explain  ?  Mercy  of  God,  what  a  position  for 
an  old  religious!  He  underwent  spasms  of  panic j 
he  was  of  two  minds  whether  or  not  to  rise  and  run. 
But  the  sound  of  a  footstep,  of  a  man's  hoarse  breath 
ing,  of  rustling  branches  and  snapping  twigs,  sud 
denly  brought  the  heart  to  his  mouth.  The  wild 
animal  in  him  was  instantly  on  the  defensive,  and  he 
flattened  himself  to  the  ground. 

He  lay  like  a  log,  not  moving  so  much  as  an  eye 
lash.  He  heard  the  ring  of  metal  as  Michael  appa 
rently  fumbled  with  his  gun  in  the  lower  branches  of 
the  ifi-tree.  The  shot-flask  fell  with  a  crash,  and  the 
brother  swore— yes,  said  "damn"  audibly,  and  picked 
it  up.  Then  there  was  a  silence  j  an  eternity  of  sus 
pense  ;  then  a  faint  crackling  as  of  parting  boughs. 
The  father  peeped  out,  and  saw  a  black  figure  disap 
pearing  inland  j  an  unmistakable  black  figure,  bent 
and  furtive,  speeding  mysteriously  through  the  gloom. 
He  was  up  and  following  in  a  second,  half  doubled 
together,  like  the  man  he  pursued,  eager  as  a  blood 
hound  with  his  nose  to  the  spoor.  The  way,  with 
few  intermissions,  ran  steadily  uphill,  up  and  up, 
faster  and  faster,  until  one's  side  seemed  to  crack  and 
one's  heart  to  burst.  Up  and  up,  with  a  swing  to  the 
right  to  avoid  the  splashing  waterfalls  of  the  Vaita'i ; 
through  groves  of  mostfoi  that  stifled  the  air  with 
sweetness ;  under  towering  maalava- trees  that  seemed 
to  pierce  the  very  sky. 

Would  he  never  stop  ? 

But  the  lay  brother,  without  once  turning,  without 

255 


The  Phantom  City 

once  stopping  either  to  rest  or  to  look  back,  plunged 
forward  with,  the  certainty  of  a  man  who  knew  his 
way  blindfold.  They  were,  now,  pursued  and  pur 
suer,  on  the  high  ridge  between  two  river  valleys  j  on 
the  one  hand  was  the  Vailoloa,  a  tributary  of  the 
Vaita'i,  on  the  other  the  roaring  Fuasou,  both  racing 
tumultuously  to  the  sea.  The  father  wondered  how 
Michael  meant  to  extricate  himself  from  such  a  cul- 
de-sac,  unless  (and  the  thought  dashed  his  hopes  to 
the  ground)  he  intended  to  assail  the  cloudy  slopes  of 
Mount  Loamu  itself  and  make  a  circuit  of  a  dozen 
miles. 

But  his  question  no  sooner  suggested  itself  than  it 
was  answered.  Of  a  sudden  the  brother  stopped  on 
the  edge  of  the  Fuasou  ravine,  dropped  one  leg  over, 
then  the  other,  and  began  to  disappear  hand  over 
hand  by  means  of  a  hidden  ladder.  The  priest  stood 
where  he  was,  transfixed  with  astonishment.  To 
hurry  now  seemed  unwise.  If  he  had  come  to  ladders 
he  was  not  improbably  near  the  goal  itself.  Patience ! 
A  breath  or  two,  a  moment  to  cast  one's  self  full 
length  on  the  ground  and  wipe  the  acrid  sweat  from 
one's  eyes,  and  then,  having  given  the  lay  brother 
a  minute's  start,  to  descend  the  precipice  in  his 
wake. 

Father  Studby  approached  the  brink  and  looked 
over.  Below  him,  dropping,  perhaps,  sixteen  feet,  was 
a  roughly  made  ladder  of  bamboo  which  rested  at 
the  bottom  on  a  rocky  buttress  of  the  cliff.  On  the 
edge  of  that,  again,  with  its  splintered  ends  appearing 
through  the  trampled  undergrowth,  was  a  continuing 

256 


The  Phantom  City 

ladder,  the  second  of  a  series  that  dropped,  one  after 
another,  into  the  deep  defile.  With  guarded  steps,  and 
after  a  prolonged  deliberation,  the  priest  let  himself 
slowly  down  ladder  number  one ;  down  number  two ; 
down  number  three,  which  ran  so  long  and  straight  on 
the  open  face  of  the  rock  that  he  faltered,  turned 
dizzy,  and  had  to  close  his  eyes  to  recover  himself; 
down  number  four  j  down  number  five,  at  the  base  of 
which  there  descended  a  zigzag  path  to  the  river. 
Following  this  unhesitatingly,  with  the  noise  of  rush 
ing  water  in  his  ears,  he  emerged  at  last  on  a  basaltic 
shelf  not  six  feet  above  the  bed  of  the  Fuasou.  From 
this  coign  of  vantage  he  gazed  about  in  vain  for  any 
sight  of  Michael,  until,  on  creeping  to  the  very  edge 
of  the  rock,  he  ventured  to  look  below.  There,  imme 
diately  beneath  him,  so  close,  indeed,  that  he  might 
have  touched  him  with  his  hand,  was  the  lay  brother 
himself,  busy  shovelling  a  bucket  full  of  sand. 

"  Mercy  of  God ! "  exclaimed  the  priest  below  his 
breath ;  and  even  as  he  did  so,  by  that  singular  tele 
pathy  which  so  often  confounds  us,  Michael  lifted  his 
head  and  looked  his  pursuer  squarely  in  the  face. 
For  an  appreciable  instant  the  pair  challenged  each 
other's  eyes  in  silence  •  the  lay  brother's  were  kindling 
and  fierce,  the  priest's  all  abashed,  like  those  of  a  girl. 

"Come  down  here,"  said  Michael,  peremptorily. 
"  I  have  something  to  tell  you." 

The  priest  obeyed,  with  the  mien  of  a  man  descend 
ing  to  his  execution. 

"  You  old  interloper,"  cried  Michael,  with  a  mirth 
less  laugh.  "  So  you  are  here  at  last,  are  you  ?  I 

257 


The  Phantom  City 

have  seen  it  working  in  your  silly  old  head  for  weeks. 
I  never  looked  up  but  I  thought  to  see  your  bloody 
boots ! " 

This  unexpected  address  only  served  to  add  to  the 
old  man's  confusion.  He  looked  about  him  helplessly. 
Such  unrestrained  language  seemed  to  call  for  a  sharp 
rebuke.  He  was  shocked  and  frightened  j  as  much  so 
as  a  woman  insulted  on  the  street ;  and  yet  the  con 
sciousness  of  his  own  position — that  of  the  detected 
spy— froze  the  words  of  correction  on  his  lips. 

"  Of  course,  you  want  to  know  what  I  have  been 
doing  here/'  continued  Michael,  in  his  mocking  tone. 
"  If  you  '11  look  into  that  cradle  you  will  see  quick 
enough.  Why,  man  alive,  don't  you  know  what  it  is  ? " 

Amazed  and  ashamed,  Father  Studby  touched  the 
dirty  sediment  with  his  finger. 

14  That  >s  gold  !  "  cried  the  lay  brother. 

The  priest  hastily  withdrew  his  hand  and  stared  at 
his  companion  in  consternation. 

Gold! 

The  priest's  head  went  round  j  his  heart  thumped 
in  his  breast;  with  that  word  everything  was  for 
gotten — his  shame,  his  anger,  his  humiliation. 

"  Oh,  Michael !  "  he  broke  out  incoherently.  "  Oh, 
Michael ! " 

"  I  am  taking  out  about  twenty  ounces  a  day,"  said 
the  lay  brother.  "  Some  days  I  have  touched  forty." 

"  Mercy  of  God ! "  cried  the  old  man,  hoarsely. 
"  Mercy  of  God,  show  me  how  you  do  it !  " 

Michael  had  another  cradle  ready  to  hand.  It  was 
the  first  he  had  made,  he  said,  and  nothing  like  so  good 

258 


The  Phantom  City 

as  the  other ;  but  it  would  do  for  a  day  or  two  until 
they  made  a  new  one— yes,  it  would  do,  though  a  lot 
of  the  finer  stuff  was  lost.  You  did  it  this  way — so — 
just  rocking  it  like  a  baby's  cradle ;  the  squares  of 
blanket  screened  the  gold,  and  you  washed  them  out 
afterwards  in  a  pan.  A  place  ?  Oh,  anywhere  along 
the  stream.  It  was  all  rotten  with  gold. 

The  priest  hurried  off,  and  was  soon  shaking  fran 
tically  a  hundred  yards  below.  He  had  not  been  gone 
an  hour  when  he  came  hurrying  back  to  where  his 
companion  was  still  at  work. 

"  Look  at  that !  "  he  cried,  holding  out  a  trembling 
hand.  "  Oh,  Michael,  what  is  it  worth  ? " 

"Three  or  four  pounds,  perhaps,"  said  the  lay 
brother,  indulgently. 

"  Mercy  of  God ! "  cried  the  priest,  and  he  was  off 
again  at  a  run. 

A  little  later  he  came  back  again.  They  were 
watched,  he  said ;  he  was  certain  they  were  watched. 
He  could  hardly  speak  for  agitation.  He  had  heard 
noises  behind  him,  again,  and  again,  like  the  laughter 
of  girls  in  the  bush. 

But  Michael  only  derided  his  fears.  The  bush  was 
a  creepy  place,  he  said,  when  you  were  all  alone  in 
it.  He  had  felt  the  same  way  himself  when  he  first 
came,  and  was  eternally  peeping  over  his  shoulder  and 
stopping  his  work  to  listen.  One  got  used  to  it  after 
a  while ;  he  supposed  it  must  be  some  kind  of  a  bird. 

All  day  long  they  worked  together  in  the  stream, 
stopping  only  at  noon  for  a  bite  of  bread  and  a  pipe. 
So  engrossing  was  the  occupation  that  one  seemed 


The  Phantom  City 

never  to  grow  tired ;  the  glittering  reward  was  always  a 
fresh  incentive  to  try  one's  luck  again.  Five  pounds,  four 
pounds,  six  pounds,  three  pounds  !  One  lost  all  count, 
and  the  level  of  the  tobacco-tin  in  which  the  golden 
sand  was  poured  rose  and  rose  in  half-inch  tides. 
Father  Studby  was  almost  angry  when  his  companion 
declared  it  was  time  to  go.  He  was  hurt  at  such  a 
suggestion;  he  was  disappointed;  he  almost  cried. 
Michael  showed  him  his  watch.  Mercy  of  God,  it  was 
past  five  o'clock  !  Then  he  remembered,  for  the  first 
time,  his  neglected  duties :  the  morning  service,  the 
school,  the  woman  who  lay  dying  in  Nofo's  house; 
the  hundred  calls,  great  and  small,  that  kept  his  day 
so  busy.  He  wondered  at  his  own  unconcern,  at  his 
own  apathy  and  selfishness.  He  felt  that  his  contri 
tion  lacked  the  proper  sting ;  he  asked  himself  whether, 
indeed,  he  cared.  He  was  dizzy  with  the  thought  of 
gold,  of  cradles  and  rich  pockets,  of  those  bright 
specks  that  still  stuck  to  his  hands.  He  followed  his 
companion  in  a  sort  of  dream,  silent  and  triumphant, 
trying  to  fasten  on  himself  a  remorse  that  would  not 
come. 

"  I  '11  never  forget  the  first  time  I  got  into  that 
valley,"  said  Michael,  on  the  long  road  home.  "  It  was 
the  hardest  job  of  my  life  to  follow  up  that  river.  I 
climbed  into  places  that  would  have  scared  a  sea-far 
ing  man ;  and  I  was  no  sooner  up  one  than  I  would 
have  to  risk  my  life  shinning  up  another,  hanging  on 
to  lianas  and  kicking  for  my  life.  Tired?  Why,  I 
would  regularly  lie  down  and  gasp— when  there  was 
anything  big  enough  to  lie  on ;  and  the  noise  of  those 

260 


The  Phantom  City 

falls,  those  that  I  was  on  top  of,  and  those  that  were 
still  to  come — my  word !  it  made  me  sick  to  hear 
them.  And  when  I  at  last  got  into  the  place,  and  sat 
down  by  a  big  pool,  and  saw  the  black  sand  with  the 
shrimps  wriggling  in  it,  I  simply  said  to  myself,  as 
quiet  as  that:  'Here  's  gold.'" 

When  they  reached  home  Michael  called  loudly  for 
brandy.  The  priest  himself  was  glad  of  a  little  after 
that  day  of  days ;  placer-mining  was  a  new  experience, 
even  to  that  veteran  of  labour,  and  he  felt  extraor 
dinarily  stiff  and  tired.  He  remembered  with  contri 
tion  how  often  in  the  past  he  had  grudged  his  com 
panion  the  stimulant,  and  he  now  blushed  for  those 
trivial  economies  with  a  hot  sense  of  impatience. 
Could  he  not  take  out  in  a  day  what  they  represented 
in  a  twelvemonth  ?  With  a  new-found  sense  of  free 
dom,  he  helped  himself  again  to  the  bottle,  and,  for 
once  in  his  frugal  life,  did  not  measure  the  allowance 
with  his  thumb.  Then  Michael,  with  an  elaborate 
pantomime  of  secrecy,  beckoned  him  into  the  other 
room,  and,  after  shutting  and  bolting  the  door,  threw 
open  the  top  of  his  trunk.  Beneath  the  rumpled 
heap  of  clothes  there  were  a  dozen  tin  cans  of  all 
shapes,  some  with  their  own  original  covers,  others 
capped  with  packing-paper  like  pots  of  jam.  The  lay 
brother  opened  them  one  by  one,  lovingly,  exultingly, 
his  face  shining  with  satisfaction.  Each  was  filled 
to  the  brim  with  coarse  gold-dust ;  each  weighed  down 
the  hand  like  an  ingot. 

"  Take  one,  father,"  said  Michael.  "  It  is  a  little 
enough  return  for  all  your  kindness." 

26l 


The  Phantom  City 

The  priest  trembled  and  drew  back. 

"  No,  no  !  "  he  cried. 

"  As  you  like,"  said  Michael,  with  a  tone  of  affected 
indifference.  "  You  will  be  doing  as  well  yourself  in 
a  few  days." 

"  God  help  me  !  "  exclaimed  the  priest,  and  buried 
his  face  in  his  hands. 

The  lay  brother  looked  down  at  him  strangely  and 
said  nothing.  He  knew  something  of  the  hidden  con 
flict  at  that  moment  raging  in  the  old  man's  breast, 
and  he  had  too  much  at  stake  himself  to  venture  an 
incautious  word.  Everything  depended  now  upon 
the  priest,  for  good  or  evil;  it  lay  with  him  to 
keep  the  secret  inviolate,  or  to  spread  it  to  all  the 
world  j  to  accept  the  partnership  thus  tacitly  offered, 
and  allow  them  both  to  reap  a  colossal  harvest  j  or, 
standing  coldly  on  the  letter  of  his  vows,  to  open  the 
door  to  a  rush  of  thousands.  The  brother  held  his 
breath  and  waited  for  that  supreme  decision  on  which 
so  much  depended ;  he  was  afraid  to  speak,  afraid  even 
to  move,  as  he  looked  down  at  his  companion  in  a 
fever  of  suspense.  The  intolerable  silence  weighed 
upon  him  like  a  nightmare.  He  felt  that  it  was  the 
enemy  of  all  his  hopes ;  that  every  minute  of  it  in 
creased  the  hazard  of  his  fortunes $  that  he  was  being 
tried,  that  he  was  being  condemned. 

"  Father,"  he  broke  out,  "  your  name  need  not  ap 
pear  in  this;  you  need  do  nothing  but  hold  your 
tongue ;  you  can  be  my  partner  without  a  soul  to  know 
it.  As  God  sees  me,  I  will  divide  with  you  to  the  last 
penny." 

262 


The  Phantom  City 

The  old  man  lifted  his  head. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  do,"  he  said. 

"It  's  just  this,"  said  Michael,  regaining  a  little 
confidence.  "  If  you  spread  the  news  broadcast— and 
the  merest  whisper  will  do  that— you  will  get  nothing 
at  all  and  I  will  get  no  more  than  a  beggarly  claim. 
Keep  it  to  ourselves  and  we  shall  share  tens  of  thou 
sands  of  pounds." 

"  I  am  a  Mar  1st  priest,"  said  Father  Studby.  "  I  am 
a  missionary.  I  am  an  old  man  nearing  the  end  of 
my  days.  My  vows  prevent  me  from  withholding  any 
property  from  my  Order.  I  should  be  acting  dishon 
ourably  in  entering  into  such  an  enterprise.  I  have 
no  right  to  gain  money  for  myself." 

"  Who  is  asking  you  to  keep  it  for  yourself  ? "  de 
manded  Michael.  "  What  prevents  you  giving  your 
Order  every  ounce  that  falls  to  your  share  ?  Do  you 
really  think  Monseigrieur  would  find  fault  if  you 
brought  him  a  check  for  a  hundred  thousand  pounds  ? 
And  I  don't  even  ask  you  to  keep  silence  for  ever.  In 
six  months,  or  a  year,  or  whatever  it  is,— when  the 
proper  time  comes,— you  can  make  a  clean  breast  of 
it.  Of  course,  if  you  choose  the  other  thing,  your 
Order  will  get  nothing,  and  somehow  I  don't  think 
they  will  be  as  pleased  as  you  seem  to  think.  Why, 
man,  think  what  the  money  would  do  for  the  cathe 
dral  !  They  could  build  the  new  mission-house  to 
morrow.  And  remember  for  one  moment  what  you 
could  do  here  !  " 

"  No,"  said  the  father,  "  you  have  put  the  matter  in 
a  new  light.  I  should  fail  in  my  duty  if  I  let  this 


263 


The  Phantom  City 

money  go  from  us.  They  would  be  right  to  reproach 
me  if  I  let  the  chance  slip.  I  fear  I  was  thinking 
more  of  myself  than  of  them." 

After  supper  they  drew  out  their  chairs  on  the 
moonlit  verandah,  and  sat  for  a  while  in  silence. 
The  priest  was  conscious,  amid  the  uneasy  preoccu 
pation  that  settled  on  him  like  a  cloud,  that  in  some 
manner  their  relative  positions  had  changed.  The 
masterful  young  man,  by  reason  of  his  great  discov 
ery,  on  the  strength,  perhaps,  of  his  more  vigorous 
and  determined  will,  seemed  now  to  arrogate  to  him 
self  the  right  to  lead.  It  appeared  natural  to  Father 
Studby  to  acquiesce  in  this ;  to  subordinate  himself  to 
his  companion  and  wait  timidly  for  him  first  to  speak ; 
even  to  feel  a  kind  of  gratitude  for  the  partnership 
that  caused  him  such  qualms.  Self-effacing  and 
humble,  it  came  easy  to  him  to  sink  to  a  second  place 
and  accept  unquestioningly  the  orders  of  a  superior. 
Besides,  what  did  he  know  of  gold  ? 

"  The  first  thing  we  must  consider,"  began  Michael, 
"  the  first,  because  it  is  the  most  important,  is  the  land. 
It  must  all  be  ours,  from  the  sea  to  the  mountain-tops, 
from  one  end  of  the  bay  to  the  other.  In  a  small  way 
I  have  been  already  moving  in  the  matter.  I  have 
taken  options  from  Maunga,  Leapai,  and  George 
Tuimaleali'ifano,  the  three  principal  chiefs  here,  for 
what  seems  to  cover  more  than  the  area  of  the  group. 
I  paid  them  out  of  hand  about  twenty  dollars  each ; 
but  the  options,  to  make  them  good,  will  call  for 
twenty-eight  thousand  dollars  in  Chile  money.  Oh, 
it 'a  all  perfectly  right  and  legal,"  he  broke  out,  fore- 

264 


The  Phantom  City 

stalling  an  objection  he  saw  on  his  companion's  lips. 
"  I  had  the  forms  drawn  up  in  Nukualofa  by  a  lawyer ; 
it  cost  me  three  pounds  to  do  it.  The  only  point  is 
how  much  of  the  land  really  belongs  to  these  chiefs, 
for  there  are  bound  to  be  half  a  hundred  other  claim 
ants  whose  consent  will  be  needed  to  make  the  title 
good;  and  it  will  be  your  part  to  ferret  them  out. 
What  you  must  bear  in  mind  most  is  that  we  must 
nail  every  inch  of  the  beach.  There  will  be  a  city 
here  in  a  month  after  the  news  is  out ;  in  a  year  there 
will  be  tramways,  and  newspapers,  and  brick  banks 
and  churches,  and  wharves  with  ships  discharging. 
Don't  you  see,  we  must  have  our  fist  in  all  that ;  we 
must  have  the  lion's  share ;  every  pound  the  others 
bring  must  pay  us  toll." 

"  The  others !  "  cried  the  priest.  "  Mercy  of  God, 
let  us  keep  the  thing  to  ourselves !  " 

••  We  could  n't,  if  we  would,"  cried  the  lay  brother. 
"  You  might  as  well  try  and  hide  the  island  as  to  keep 
them  out.  When  I  was  a  boy  I  was  in  the  Kattabe- 
long  gold  rush  with  my  father,  and  I  know  what  I  am 
talking  about.  They  rose  up  like  waves  in  the  sea- 
waves  and  waves  of  men,  bursting  in  with  yells  like 
an  invading  army.  Why,  it  won't  be  any  time  before 
we  are  holding  our  valley  with  a  line  of  rifles ;  you 
will  see  all  hell  loose  and  a  thousand  devils  landing  at 
a  time ;  you  will  see  the  horizon  black  with  steamer 
smoke,  bringing  in  thousands  more;  you  will  see 
men  killed  and  their  bodies  rotting  in  the  sun. 
That  's  the  first  stage  of  a  gold  rush— the  pioneer 
stage,  the  stage  of  murder  and  crime,  of  might  for 

265 


The  Phantom  City 

right.  That  will  be  the  time  for  us  to  live  through 
as  best  we  can.  Bit  by  bit  there  comes  a  subsidence 
into  a  kind  of  order.  There  is  a  rally  of  the  better 
sort  j  the  inevitable  leader  rises  to  the  top.  You  walk 
out  one  morning,  and  you  run  across  Billy  This,  the 
terror  of  the  camp,  swaying  peacefully  at  the  end  of  a 
rope.  At  another  turn  it  is  Tommy  That,  with  his 
toes  turned  up  and  a  ticket  on  his  breast.  The  third 
period  is  the  arrival  of  an  official  with  a  tin  office 
and  blank  forms.  Who  owns  the  land  here  ?  Why, 
we  do.  Who  claims  that  ?  Why,  we  claim  it.  Who 
owns  the  beach  from  a  point  beginning  at  such  and 
such  a  place,  to  a  point  marked  B  on  the  new  official 
map  ?  We  again !  Who  owns  the  mountain  lakes 
they  talk  already  of  tapping  for  the  water-supply  ?  We 
do.  Who  owns  everything  in  sight?  The  same  old 
firm,  if  you  please,  sir.  But  I  am  not  saying  we  can 
hold  the  fort  single-handed.  God  never  made  the  two 
men  that  could.  But  this  is  what  we  do.  We  grant 
titles,  concessions,  half  and  quarter  interests  to  men  of 
the  right  stamp,  and  make  them  our  partners  against 
the  mob.  We  take  the  money  they  bring,  and  reserve 
a  substantial  profit  in  their  future  undertakings.  As 
I  said  before,  we  must  have  our  fist  in  every  pocket." 

Michael  paused  and  slowly  filled  a  second  pipe. 
The  father  remained  silent,  his  head  resting  on  his 
trembling  hand.  He  was  staring  into  vacancy,  seeing 
through  his  half-shut  eyes  a  myriad  of  changing  pic 
tures. 

"Michael,"  he  said,  "have  you  ever  thought  how  it 
will  be  with  our  people  ? " 

266 


The  Phantom  City 

"  Oh,  the  Kanakas  !  "  said  the  lay  brother. 

"Yes,  the  Samoans,"  said  Father  Studby.  "What 
is  to  become  of  them,  Michael  ?  " 

"  They  will  go/7  said  the  young  man,  coolly,  "where 
the  inferior  race  always  goes  in  a  gold  rush.  They 
will  go  to  the  devil." 

"  Oh,  Michael,"  exclaimed  the  priest,  "  I  cannot  bear 
to  think  of  them  !  " 

"  I  am  sure  I  am  sorry,  too,"  said  the  lay  brother. 
"  But  there  is  no  use  blinking  our  eyes  to  facts,  or 
feeling  miserable  about  what  can't  be  helped.  The 
men  must  learn  to  work  like  other  people,  and  I  look 
to  you,  with  your  influence  here,  to  line  them  up  on 
the  right  side.  Fifty  or  sixty  of  them  would  be  worth 
everything  to  us  at  the  start.  As  for  the  nigger 
women,  if  they  are  young  and  pretty,  I  dare  say  a  use 
can  be  found  for  them,  too.  I  am  sorry,  but  what  can 
you  do  ?  You  can't  put  back  the  clock,  old  fellow." 

The  priest  groaned. 

"  I  wish  you  had  never  found  the  gold  !  "  he  cried 
out  passionately. 

"  Well,  it  is  too  late  now,"  said  Michael. 

The  next  day  the  old  man  was  up  at  the  first  peep 
of  dawn.  He  had  not  slept  all  night,  but  had  lain 
with  open  eyes,  in  a  fever  of  horror  and  remorse.  He 
walked  down  to  the  village  and  along  the  sandy  beach, 
and  sat  miserably  for  an  hour  on  the  bottom  of  an 
upturned  canoe.  One  by  one,  he  saw  the  beehive 
houses  awaken  ;  he  saw  ihepolas  rise,  disclosing  dark 
interiors  and  smoking  lamps ;  he  heard  the  pate,  that 

267 


The  Phantom  City 

most  primitive  of  human  signals,  rousing  the  slug 
gards  to  another  day,  its  insistent  tapping  the  prelude 
to  the  morning  prayer  which  rose  here  and  there 
as  each  household  assembled  its  members.  Grave  old 
chiefs  appeared  at  the  eaves,  yawned,  gazed  at  the 
sun,  and  exchanged  ceremonious  greetings ;  children 
trooped  out  sleepily  to  play  •  half-grown  girls  tripped 
away  for  water,  or  sat  on  logs  or  strips  of  matting,  in 
twos  and  threes,  staring  out  to  sea.  An  imperious  old 
chief  began  to  blow  a  conch-shell  bigger  than  his  head. 
Bu,  bu,  bu !  it  sounded,  rich  and  mellow,  with  faint 
reechoings  on  the  woody  hills.  The  young  men  assem 
bled  about  him,  laughing  and  shouting,  and  taking  up 
the  note  of  the  conch  in  a  lusty  chorus  as  they  called 
out  the  names  of  those  still  to  come.  The  father 
remembered  that  they  were  to  launch  the  new  alia, 
the  huge  double  canoe,  which  belonged  in  common  to 
all  Lauli'i. 

He  looked  about  him  mournfully  j  he  felt  himself  a 
traitor  through  and  through  j  he  dropped  his  eyes  as 
every  one  saluted  him  and  the  little  children  ran  up  to 
kiss  his  hands.  He  was  about  to  sweep  this  all  away, 
this  life  of  simplicity,  peace,  and  beauty ;  he  was  going 
to  enslave  these  stalwart  men ;  he  was  going  to  give 
these  women  to  degradation.  Under  the  scorching 
breath  of  what  was  called  civilisation  they  would 
wither  and  die.  God  help  them  !  On  the  ground  where 
those  houses  now  stood  there  would  rise  the  brick 
banks  and  churches  of  which  Michael  had  spoken ; 
offices,  stock  exchanges,  theatres,  and  roaring  bars; 
dance-halls  full  of  shameless  women,  and  dens  where 

268 


The  Phantom  City 

men  would  be  drugged  and  robbed.  And  what  was  he 
to  gain  for  it  all  ?  What  was  the  price  for  so  much  sin 
and  misery  ?  Wealth  for  his  Order !  The  biggest  ac 
count  in  that  brick  bank,  blocks  of  bonds  and  shares, 
sheafs  of  mortgages  !  Good  God,  how  had  he  dared 
set  his  hand  to  such  an  infamy  !  And  if,  by  way  of  pen 
ance,  he  were  to  build  a  church,  the  great  church  of 
which  he  had  dreamed,  with  lofty  windows  of  stained 
glass,  and  an  organ  that  would  shake  the  very  ground, 
and  bells  tempered  with  hundredweights  of  silver, 
who,  indeed,  would  there  be  left  to  worship  in  it? 
What  had  gold-seekers  to  do  with  Christ,  with  God, 
with  the  Blessed  Virgin  ?  There  might  appear,  per 
haps,  a  few  brown  faces,  changed  and  heartbroken, 
a  few  shrinking  figures  in  the  rags  of  the  disinher 
ited,  who  would  appeal  to  him  for  comfort  in  their 
extremity.  Ah,  how  could  he  look  at  them,  these 
that  he  had  wronged  ? 

Mercy  of  God,  let  the  accursed  gold  lie  undug ! 

In  an  agony  of  self-denunciation,  he  walked  hither 
and  thither,  without  looking,  without  caring  where 
he  went,  treading  the  phantom  streets  of  that  city  of 
his  dreams.  He  talked  aloud  and  gesticulated  to  him 
self  ;  he  knelt  at  the  foot  of  a  palm  and  prayed ;  he 
was  overwhelmed  by  his  own  powerlessness  in  the  face 
of  that  impending  calamity.  He  could  see  no  help,  he 
could  find  no  solace.  And  yet,  all  the  while  he  felt, 
with  an  intense  conviction  that  belied  the  supplicating 
words  on  his  lips,  that  it  lay  with  him,  and  him  alone, 
to  save  his  people.  Thus  writhing  in  the  coil  of  his 
perplexities,  despairing  and  half  mad  at  the  unavert- 

269 


The  Phantom  City 

ible  ruin  he  knew  no  way  to  avoid,  he  suddenly  found 
himself  at  his  own  door,  confronting  the  man  who 
had  brought  them  all  to  such  a  pass. 

"  My  word,  father !  "  cried  Michael,  "you  don't  look 
fit  for  another  day  up  there.  Why,  if  you  could  see 
your  face  in  the  glass  it  would  give  you  the  shakes  j 
you  ought  to  be  in  bed." 

He  would  have  passed  on,  but  the  priest  caught  him 
by  the  arm. 

"Michael,"  he  broke  out,  "Michael,  stop  and  listen 
to  me.  I  have  something  important  to  tell  you— some 
thing  that  must  be  said,  however  little  you  may  like 
to  hear  it.  I— I  find  I  cannot  permit  this  to  go  any 
further." 

The  lay  brother  stopped  short. 

"  You  cannot  permit  what  ? "  he  demanded. 

"  This  digging  of  gold,"  cried  the  priest ;  "  this  crime 
we  have  in  mind  against  these  people,  this  crime 
against  ourselves.  Do  you  count  our  vows  for  nothing, 
our  holy  vocation,  the  fact  that  God  has  set  us  apart 
to  guard  the  flocks  he  has  confided  to  us  ?  Fall  on 
your  knees,  miserable  boy,  and  beg  His  pardon  for 
your  impiety — here,  even  as  I  have  done ;  down,  down 
with  you !  "  The  old  priest's  voice  rose  to  a  scream ; 
he  wound  his  skinny  arms  round  his  companion,  and 
calling  on  the  saints  for  help,  tried  to  force  him  to  the 
earth. 

The  lay  brother  grew  suddenly  pale,  and,  with  a 
violent  movement,  shook  himself  free. 

"  You  old  fool !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Keep  your  dirty 
hands  off  me,  I  tell  you.  Leave  me  alone." 

270 


The  Phantom  City 

"  I  forbid  you  to  take  another  step,"  cried  the  priest. 
"  In  the  name  of  God  I  forbid  you." 

"  See  here/'  said  Michael,  somewhat  recovering  him 
self,  "I  don't  want  to  quarrel  with  you.  I  would 
rather  cut  off  my  right  hand  than  quarrel  with  you. 
I  need  you ;  and  if  you  only  had  the  sense  to  see  it, 
you  would  know  that  you  need  me.  It  would  be  a 
rotten  business  if  we  ruined  each  other." 

"Why  can't  you  take  the  gold  you  have,  and  go?" 
exclaimed  the  father.  "  Leave  the  island  and  content 
yourself  that  you  have  got  a  competence.  It  is  more 
already  than  you  could  have  gained  by  a  lifetime  of 
honest  work." 

"I  mean  to  stay  just  where  I  am,"  returned  the  lay 
brother,  "  regardless  of  whether  you  like  it  or  don't 
like  it  j  I  mean  to  stand  by  all  my  rights,  with  you  if 
I  can,  without  you  if  I  must.  You  can  do  me  lots  of 
harm,  and  skim  no  end  of  cream  off  my  milk  ;  though 
I  don't  think  you  have  much  to  gain  by  doing  it,  or 
that  the  niggers  you  are  so  fond  of  will  be  greatly 
benefited.  You  have  every  reason  to  stand  in  with 
me,  both  for  your  sake  and  theirs ;  and  if  the  money 
cuts  no  figure  with  you,  you  can  surely  see  the  sense 
of  having  some  say  in  the  subsequent  developments. 
That  's  all  I  have  time  for  now,  though  if  you  are 
more  in  your  right  mind  by  evening  I  won't  mind 
talking  it  over  with  you  again." 

With  that  last  word  Michael  passed  on,  with  an  air 
of  assurance  implying  that  all  would  come  right.  The 
old  priest  remained  standing  in  the  path,  sullenly 
looking  after  him;  and  he  remained  long  in  that 

271 


The  Phantom  City 

attitude,  even  after  the  brother's  black  figure  had 
dwindled  and  disappeared  into  the  distance.  He 
felt  utterly  baffled,  utterly  conquered ;  he  wondered 
whether  he  had  any  more  resistance  in  him  j  he  asked 
himself  if  God  had  forsaken  him. 

What  was  there  now  left  for  him  to  do,  helpless  and 
despairing  as  he  was,  but  to  wait  with  what  patience 
he  might  for  the  concluding  tragedy  ?  After  all,  his 
own  soul  was  clean  j  except  for  the  one  day,  when,  in 
the  exultation  of  the  discovery,  in  the  madness  that 
had  temporarily  possessed  him,  he  had  soiled  his  hands 
with  the  accursed  thing.  He  remembered,  with  self- 
disdain,  how  he  had  accepted  the  partnership  held 
out  to  him ;  how  he  had  been  dazzled,  cajoled,  swept 
altogether  off  his  feet  by  the  importunity  of  the  devil. 
But  that  was  all  done  with  now.  He  would  have 
none  of  the  blood-money;  if  the  knell  had  sounded 
for  his  people,  he  at  least  would  not  profit  by  their 
ruin,  he  at  least  would  not  transmute  their  agony 
into  gold.  The  others  could  do  that;  Michael  and 
his  white  savages  j  the  hosts  that  were  to  come.  Had 
the  young  man  no  conscience,  no  compassion  ?  Was 
he  simply  a  wall  of  selfishness,  against  which  one 
might  beat  in  vain  ?  Oh,  the  hypocrite,  the  months 
he  had  lived  a  lie !  Oh,  the  remorseless  devil  and 
his  gold !  How  could  God  endure  such  things  ?  A 
man  like  that  ought  to  be  struck  down  by  thunder 
bolts  ;  people  ought  to  kill  him  like  a  mad  dog. 

The  thought  made  him  tremble.  If  Michael  were 
dead,  who  would  ever  know  about  the  gold  f  Had  it 
not  lain  there  all  these  years,  latently  evil  in  the  earth, 

272 


The  Phantom  City 

no  one  dreaming  of  its  existence  ?  Why  should  it  not 
continue  to  lie  for  ever,  powerless  for  all  mischief,  or 
until  such  a  time,  perhaps,  when  men  would  no  longer 
count  it  a  thing  of  price ;  when  it  would  be  relegated 
to  museums  for  the  curious  to  stare  at,  side  by  side 
with  the  wampum  of  Indians,  cowry-shells,  and  the 
white  beards  that  pass  for  money  in  the  Marquesas. 
Ah,  were  it  not  for  Michael ! 

His  hands  shook  and  he  began  to  pant  for  breath. 
Were  it  not  better  that  one  should  suffer  than  the 
many?  one  rather  than  a  thousand?  one  rather 
than  a  whole  race,  with  countless  generations  yet 
unborn  ?  He  looked  down  on  the  roofs  of  the  village, 
a  sight  endeared  to  him  by  the  recollections  of  so 
many  years ;  he  saw,  in  the  brilliant  sunshine,  amid 
the  houses  that  had  sheltered  them  in  life,  the  mossy 
tombs  he  knew  so  well.  There,  under  the  shadow,  lay 
Soalu,  his  first  friend ;  there,  the  black-browed  Pulu- 
aoao,  the  heathen,  the  libertine,  who  had  first  thwarted 
and  then  had  loved  him ;  there,  the  earth  that  covered 
Lala'ai,  in  whose  bright  eyes  he  had  looked  once 
and  never  dared  to  look  again,  whose  memory  was 
still  as  sweet  to  him  as  on  the  day  she  died;  there 
lay  To,  the  silver-tongued ;  Silei,  the  poet ;  Lapongi, 
the  muaaUj  with  a  dozen  bullets  through  his  headless 
corpse ;  Faamuina,  Tupua,  Sisimaile— how  many  there 
were  !  He  had  loved  those  honest  hearts  now  moul 
dering  in  the  grave ;  to  some  he  had  given  messages  to 
carry  beyond  the  unknown  river  to  those  dark  com 
rades  who  had  already  gone.  He  loved  their  children, 
now  men  and  women,  who  had  been  held  out  to  him 

273 


The  Phantom  City 

by  dying  arms,  and  whom  lie  had  led  crying  from  the 
house  of  bereavement  to  comfort  as  best  he  could. 
For  nigh  twenty  years  he  had  been  the  ruler  and  law 
giver  of  the  bay,  the  trusted  adviser  of  great  chiefs, 
the  faithful  priest,  the  ever-welcome  friend.  Should 
he  desert  his  people  now  ? 

He  went  into  the  cook-house,  where  Ngalo  was 
sitting  on  the  steps  playing  hymns  on  his  mouth- 
organ. 

"  Ngalo,"  he  said,  "  I  want  your  rifle  and  some  car 
tridges." 

The  boy  looked  up  at  his  master's  face  with  aston 
ishment,— the  ways  of  whites  were  past  all  under 
standing,— and  it  was  not  until  he  was  asked  a  second 
time  that  he  rose  and  sought  his  gun. 

The  priest  tried  to  say  something  by  way  of  ex 
planation,  but  the  words  would  not  come.  He  could 
do  nothing  but  take  the  gun  in  silence,  and  charge 
the  magazine  with  an  unsteady  hand,  while  the  boy's 
eyes  grew  bigger  and  bigger. 

"  Doubtless  your  Excellency  has  seen  a  wild  cow  in 
the  bush  ?  "  Ngalo  at  length  inquired. 

The  father  nodded  and  turned  to  go. 

"  Blessed  be  the  hunting ! "  cried  the  boy  after 
him  from  the  door,  before  resuming  the  strains  of 
"  There  's  a  land  that  is  fairer  than  day." 

"  Blessed  be  the  home-stayers,"  returned  the  priest, 
with  conventional  politeness. 

At  last  he  was  at  the  place— at  the  foot  of  the  sec 
ond  ladder,  on  the  narrow  ledge  that  overlooked  the 

274 


The  Phantom  City 

third.  He  scarcely  knew  why  he  had  been  led  to 
choose  this  spot,  for  the  top  would  surely  have  done  as 
well.  But  the  ladder  there  was  shorter,  and  a  desper 
ate  man  might  let  himself  drop  below,  or  rush  up  like 
lightning  before  one  could  pull  a  second  trigger. 
The  third  ladder  was  immensely  long ;  Michael  him 
self  had  once  said  that  it  was  sixty  feet  or  more ;  in 
the  middle  of  it  a  man  was  helpless.  If  he  fell  it 
would  be  to  smash  to  pieces  on  the  rocks  beneath ;  if 
he  elected  to  climb,  it  would  be  in  the  face  of  a  dozen 
bullets. 

He  threw  himself  on  the  ground,  and  sat  cross- 
legged,  with  the  rifle  resting  in  his  lap.  He  was  haunted 
by  a  dread  that  the  lay  brother  might  still  outwit  him  j 
that  he  might  burst  on  him  from  behind  with  a  mock 
ing  laugh ;  or  dart  up  unexpectedly  from  the  very  edge 
of  the  cliff.  He  wondered  how  Michael  would  look 
with  a  bullet  through  his  face.  He  remembered  such 
a  wound  in  the  Talavao  war,  when  he  had  helped  to 
bury  the  killed ;  and  the  thought  of  it  made  him  shud 
der.  He  tried  to  pray,  but  the  words  froze  on  his  lips. 
What  had  a  murderer  to  do  with  prayer  ?  But  he  was 
not  yet  a  murderer— not  yet.  There  was  still  time 
to  draw  back ;  there  was  still  time  to  save  his  soul 
from  everlasting  hell.  How  dared  he  hesitate  when 
all  eternity  was  at  stake  ?  He  was  shocked  at  himself, 
at  his  own  resolution,  at  his  own  courage  and  stead 
fastness.  He  meant  to  kill  the  lay  brother,  even  if  the 
skies  were  to  fall.  He  was  there  to  make  a  sublime 
sacrifice  for  the  sake  of  those  he  loved.  Let  hell  do 
its  worst.  He  would  say  between  the  torments :  "  I 

275 


The  Phantom  City 

saved  them !  I  saved  them !  "  His  only  dread  was 
that  his  hand  might  tremble  on  the  trigger  •  that  at 
the  supreme  moment  he  might  flinch  and  fail;  that 
he  might  throw  his  weapon  from  him  in  uncontrollable 
horror. 

Hark !  what  was  that  ?  Mercy  of  God,  what  was 
that? 

He  peeped  stealthily  over  the  edge. 

Michael  was  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder. 

The  priest  felt  a  sudden  sinking  in  the  region  of 
the  stomach.  Something  seemed  to  say  to  him: 
"  But  that  ;s  flesh  and  blood  j  that  's  a  man  !  »  He 
would  have  given  worlds  to  have  dispossessed  him 
self  of  the  rifle ;  lies  and  explanations  crowded  to  his 
lips  ;  his  teeth  chattered  in  his  head.  Then,  as  he  cow 
ered  impotently  to  the  ground,  the  ladder  shook  with 
the  weight  of  Michael's  feet  on  the  lowest  rung. 

He  tried  to  pull  himself  together;  but  under  the 
stress  of  that  overwhelming  agitation  the  mechanical 
part  of  him  seemed  to  stop.  He  had  to  tell  himself  to 
breathe ;  his  heart  suffocated  within  his  breast.  He 
gasped  like  a  drowning  man,  drawing  in  the  air  with 
great,  tremulous  sighs  as  his  choking  throat  relaxed. 
Suddenly  he  ceased  altogether  to  be  himself;  he 
became  a  phantom  in  a  dream;  a  twitching,  crazy 
creature  whom  he  saw  through  a  sort  of  mist,  dizzily 
centred  in  a  whirl  of  forest  and  sky. 

He  looked  over  and  saw  that  Michael  was  more 
than  half-way  up.  The  lay  brother's  whole  body 
spoke  of  dejection  and  fatigue,  of  a  long  day's  work 
not  yet  ended,  and  it  was  evident  that  the  heavy 


276 


The  Phantom  City 

can  slung  from  his  neck  was  for  once  more  of  a  bur 
den  than  a  satisfaction.  He  raised  his  weary  eyes, 
and  with  a  kind  of  a  shock  encountered  those  of  Father 
Studby  peering  down  at  him  from  above.  He  cried 
out  inarticulately,  and  began  to  redouble  his  exertions, 
smiling  and  panting  as  he  did  so. 

Still  as  in  a  dream,  the  priest  leaned  boldly  over  the 
precipice,  and  dropped  the  point  of  his  rifle  until  its 
farther  sight  was  dancing  across  the  lay  brother's  face, 
which,  in  swift  gradations,  underwent  the  whole 
gamut  of  dismay,  astonishment,  and  utter  stupefac 
tion.  For  an  instant  Michael  faltered  and  hung  back  j 
he  even  slunk  down  a  step,  speechless  and  as  white  as 
death.  Then,  of  a  sudden,  he  broke  out  into  shrill 
peals  of  laughter,  followed  by  a  torrent  of  gabble, 
brisk,  friendly,  and  tremblingly  insincere,  such  as  one 
might  address  to  a  madman  from  whom  it  is  dan 
gerous  to  run.  He  had  struck  a  new  place,  he  cried. 
My  word !  there  was  no  end  to  it— pockets  upon 
pockets  only  waiting  to  be  washed  out.  It  was  at 
the  fifth  waterfall,  not  far  from  the  dam  by  the  ban 
yan-tree,  and  he  had  worked  there  all  day  with  ex 
traordinary  success.  The  other  place  was  good  enough, 
to  be  sure,  with  its  average  of  three  pounds  and  more, 
but  this  at  the  fifth  waterfall  was  the  real  McKay. 
The  father  must  positively  come  down  and  see  it  at 
once ;  positively  you  could  see  the  nuggets  shining  in 
every  spadeful  j  no  matter  if  it  were  late,  the  father 
must  come.  He  had  better  leave  his  gun  on  the  top, 
for  who  was  there  to  touch  it  ? 

Father  Studby  never  turned  from  his  position,  nor 

277 


The  Phantom  City 

made  the  least  pretence  of  answering  the  breathless 
patter  with  which  the  brother  tried  to  shield  himself. 
Like  a  rock  he  waited,  while  the  miserable  man  below 
him,  sweating  with  fear,  moved  slowly  into  point-blank 
range.  Talk  as  he  might,  with  a  volubility  that  grew 
increasingly  anxious  and  incoherent,  Michael  realised 
at  last  that  his  time  had  come.  He  stopped ;  he  raised 
his  hand  convulsively ;  he  cried  out  in  a  broken  voice : 
"  Oh,  for  God's  sake,  don't  kill  me !  » 

Even  as  he  did  so,  the  father  pulled  the  trigger. 

Then  he  turned,  reclimbed  the  ladders,  and  went 
home. 

That  night  the  priest  went  outside  the  reef  in  his 
canoe,  and  emptied  Michael's  store  of  gold-dust  into 
the  sea,  scattering  it  like  seed  on  the  ocean  floor  at  a 
point  where  the  tide  ran  swiftest.  On  his  return,  with 
a  cunning  that  seemed  to  him  the  inspiration  of  the 
devil,  he  got  out  the  lay  brother's  spare  hat  and  some 
of  the  clothes  that  were  in  his  chest,  and  left  them,  to 
tell  their  own  tale,  on  the  sandy  beach.  At  dawn  he 
made  his  way  back  to  the  valley,  still  sustained,  in  spite 
of  all  his  fatigue,  by  a  consuming  fire  of  activity. 
He  felt  that  the  sands  of  his  own  life  were  running 
out;  that  at  any  moment  he  might  be  struck  down 
himself  by  an  unseen  hand ;  that  those  strange,  be 
numbing  premonitions  in  his  brain  bade  him  imperi 
ously  to  close  the  chapter  of  his  crime.  The  horror 
of  dying  with  his  purpose  unfulfilled  spurred  him  on 
to  desperate  exertions.  He  stumbled  again  and  again 
on  the  path  j  he  had  recurring  fits  of  giddiness,  when 

278 


The  Phantom  City 

the  sun  seemed  darkened  to  his  eyes,  when  for  a  space 
he  half  forgot  his  dreadful  errand,  and  wondered  to 
find  himself  in  the  bush.  He  expected,  when  he 
reached  the  brink  of  the  cliff  and  began  to  descend 
the  long,  shaky  ladders,  to  feel  some  recrudescence  of 
the  emotions  of  the  day  before.  But,  to  his  own  sur 
prise,  he  discovered  in  himself  a  callousness  that  set  all 
such  qualms  at  defiance ;  he  had  exhausted,  in  the  course 
of  those  last  forty  hours,  all  his  capacity  for  such  para 
lysing  susceptibilities ;  like  some  soldier  after  the  bat 
tle,  he  was  sated  with  the  horrors  through  which  he  had 
passed,  and  had  become  altogether  deadened  to  those 
about  him.  Even  when  he  stood  on  the  very  place 
from  which  Michael  had  made  his  last  appeal,  and, 
looking  in  the  air  above,  more  than  half  expected  to 
see  the  protruding  muzzle  of  another  rifle,  he  felt, 
indeed,  no  answering  thrill  or  perturbation.  The 
burden  of  his  own  fatigue  seemed  of  greater  moment 
than  this  reliving  of  a  tragedy ;  and  the  thought  of 
how  much  there  was  for  him  still  to  do  moved  him 
infinitely  more. 

At  the  foot  of  the  ladder,  shrunken  and  disordered, 
the  corpse  of  the  dead  brother  lay  tumbled  in  the 
grass  like  a  sack.  With  his  face  upturned  to  the  sky, 
his  sightless  eyes,  filming  with  corruption,  his  tangled 
hair  in  a  slime  of  blood  and  dirt,  he  opposed  a  ghastly 
barrier  to  the  old  priest's  further  progress;  and 
seemed,  even  in  death  itself,  to  continue  to  resist  and 
defy  him.  But  the  father  had  passed  the  stage  when 
such  a  sight  could  turn  him  back,  though  he  faltered 
for  a  moment  in  the  throes  of  an  unconquerable  dis- 

279 


The  Phantom  City 

gust  before  daring  at  last  to  set  his  foot  across  the 
body.  Even  when  he  did  so,  driving  off  the  swarm 
ing  flies  with  both  his  hands,  it  was  with  an  agony  of 
precaution  against  the  least  contact  with  that  dead  flesh. 

Descending  into  the  valley,  he  drew  together  all  the 
tell-tale  evidences  of  their  work  below,  the  cradles, 
picks,  and  shovels,  the  tins  and  boxes  and  ends  of 
boards  and  scantlings,  which  had  been  carried,  at  one 
time  and  another,  into  that  secluded  place,  and  buried 
them  in  one  of  the  deepest  holes  along  the  stream.  He 
broke  down  the  dams  that  Michael  had  spent  days  in 
building,  the  stones  that  had  been  piled  aside  to  un 
cover  the  ground  of  some  new  pocket,  the  rough 
shelters  he  had  raised  here  and  there  against  the  sun  j 
he  obliterated  with  his  knife  the  marks  that  had  been 
blazed  upon  the  trees,  and  searched  everywhere,  with 
a  feverish  pertinacity  that  took  him  again  and  again 
over  the  same  ground,  for  the  least  detail  that  he 
might  have  overlooked. 

Then,  in  a  drip  of  sweat,  and  exhausted  to  such  a 
pitch  that  he  wondered  whether  he  should  ever  leave 
the  valley  alive,  he  took  the  spade  he  had  kept  by  him 
to  the  last,  and  mounted  the  bottom  ladder.  As  he 
went  he  cut  away  the  lashings  that  bound  it  to  the 
rock,  and  from  the  top  sent  it  headlong  behind  him. 
In  the  same  manner,  resting  painfully  at  each  stop 
ping-place,  he  detached  the  second  ladder  and  the 
third,  arriving  once  more  at  the  wide  shelf  where  he 
had  meant  to  dig  the  grave.  But  his  little  strength 
suddenly  forsook  him ;  he  was  overcome  by  a  deadly 
nausea  j  he  could  hardly  stand,  much  less  dig.  He 

280 


The  Phantom  City 

cast  the  spade  into  a  thicket,  and  with  unflinching 
resolution  detached  the  can  of  gold-dust  from  the 
dead  man's  neck.  That,  at  least,  should  not  remain 
to  tell  its  tale,  and  he  let  the  stuff  dribble  through 
his  fingers  over  the  cliff. 

To  do  more  was  impossible.  His  only  thought  now 
was  to  escape ;  to  climb  up  into  the  fresher  air  above ; 
to  save  himself  while  there  was  yet  time.  That  un- 
moving,  silent  thing  in  the  grass,  obscurely  dissolving 
into  decay,  must  perforce  be  left  as  it  was,  to  bear 
its  horrible  witness  against  him.  The  declining  mar 
gin  of  his  strength  filled  him  with  a  frenzy  of  fear 
that  if  he  waited  overlong  he  might  wait  for  ever. 
Between  the  two  risks,  the  one  of  a  possible  detec 
tion,  the  other  of  a  doom  unspeakable,  he  did  not 
venture  to  pause.  He  felt,  indeed,  an  extraordinary 
sense  of  relief  as  he  began,  rung  by  rung,  to  rise  above 
the  narrow  ledge ;  and  with  relief  a  strange  fatalism, 
in  which  it  seemed  to  him  that  everything  had  been 
predestined  from  the  beginning  of  the  world.  As  he 
clung  to  the  ladder,  overcome  at  times  by  spells  of 
f aintness  which  he  knew  might  bring  him  to  the  point 
of  letting  go  his  hold,  he  was  always  sustained  by  the 
thought  that  the  issue  lay  with  destiny.  He  would 
live,  or  he  would  fall,  as  it  had  been  written. 

In  this  singular  humour,  in  which  all  human  respon 
sibility  for  good  or  evil  seemed  to  count  for  nothing, 
the  priest  continued  to  mount  the  steep  face  of  the 
cliff.  He  rested  at  every  second  step ;  he  struggled 
against  the  recurring  fits  of  giddiness  that  threatened 
to  dash  him  from  his  perch ;  he  fought  his  way  up 

281 


The  Phantom  City 

inch  by  inch,  wondering  all  the  time  with  a  grim  com 
posure  whether  or  not  he  was  ever  destined  to  reach 
the  top.  When  at  last  he  drew  himself  into  a  coign 
of  safety  and  sent  the  great  ladder  crashing  in  his 
wake,  when  at  last  he  put  his  foot  on  the  final  goal 
and  lay  down  beneath  the  trees,  then  it  was  that  he 
began  to  realise  the  perils  to  which  he  had  so  nearly 
succumbed,  and  to  quake  with  a  thousand  belated 
apprehensions. 

For  an  hour  he  remained  huddled  in  the  grass, 
starting  at  every  sound,  and  altogether  daunted  by 
the  thought  of  returning  to  the  village.  How  would 
he  dare  encounter  those  familiar  faces,  take  up  the 
threads  of  the  old  familiar  life,  endure  those  awful 
days  to  come  when  the  mystery  of  Michael's  dis 
appearance  would  be  in  every  mouth  T  Could  he  trust 
himself  to  simulate  the  concern  he  was  bound  to 
show,  the  surprise,  the  alarm,  the  increasing  astonish 
ment  and  horror  as  the  days  passed  and  there  would  be 
still  no  news  of  the  missing  man  ?  Ah,  could  he  trust 
himself?  Had  he  in  him  the  power  to  live  such  a 
lie,  to  go  as  usual  about  his  duties,  to  hear  the  confes 
sions  of  others  when  his  own  tortured  heart  was  so 
dark  with  guilt  ? 

When,  with  faltering  steps,  he  at  length  reached 
the  village,  it  was  to  find  the  whole  place  in  a  tu 
mult.  Every  canoe  was  afloat ;  a  couple  of  whale-boats 
were  scouring  the  outer  bay  j  and  the  malae,  usually 
so  deserted  on  a  hot  afternoon,  was  overrun  by  an 
excited  throng.  Had  he  not,  then,  heard  the  news  ? 

282 


The  Phantom  City 

It  was  thought  that  the  Helper  had  been  drowned  that 
morning,  and  the  boats  were  now  searching  for  his 
body!  Behold,  here  were  the  unfortunate's  clothes, 
found  even  as  they  were,  and  by  order  of  the  chief  left 
untouched  for  the  priest  himself  to  see ;  here,  too,  was 
old  Lef  ao,  the  shrill  mother  of  Pa'a,  who  had  seen  the 
young  man  go  in  to  his  death,  and  had  heard  his  sink 
ing  cry.  "  Lef  ao,  make  for  his  Excellency  a  repeti 
tion  of  that  mournful  sound,  and  show  how  he  cast 
up  his  arms  as  thou  watchedst  him  from  the  beach." 
The  old  impostor  was  enjoying  all  the  importance  of 
having  such  a  tale  to  tell,  and  the  father  winced 
under  a  pang  of  shame  as  he  listened  to  this  unex 
pected  confederate. 

It  was  afterwards  thought  that  the  sad  affair  must 
have  unhinged  Father  Studby's  mind,  for  he  subse 
quently  began  to  show  symptoms  of  serious  mental 
disturbance,  which  culminated  a  few  months  later  in 
his  tragic  suicide.  A  marble  pillar,  the  outcome  of  a 
public  subscription  in  Sydney,  was  raised  to  the  mem 
ory  of  these  two  martyrs  of  the  cross.  In  faded 
letters,  beneath  their  crumbling  names,  one  can  still 
spell  out  the  lies : 

IN  LIFE  THEY  WERE  TOGETHER; 
IN  DEATH  THEY  WERE  NOT  DIVIDED. 


283 


AMATUA'S   SAILOR 


AMATUA'S   SAILOR 

MATUA  was  running  down  a  beautifully  shaded 
road  as  fast  as  his  little  legs  would  carry  him, 
and  close  in  chase,  like  a  hawk  after  a  sparrow,  was  a 
grizzled  man-of-war's-man  with  a  switch.  The  road 
was  long  and  straight ;  on  both  sides  it  was  bordered 
by  prickly  hedges  bright  with  limes,  and  as  impene 
trable  as  a  tangle  of  barbed  wire.  At  every  step  the 
white  man  gained  on  the  boy,  until  the  latter  could 
hear  the  hoarse,  angry  breath  of  his  pursuer.  Amatua 
stopped  short,  and  before  he  could  even  so  much  as 
turn  he  found  himself  in  a  grip  of  iron.  Whish, 
whish,  whish  !  dashed  the  switch  on  his  bare  back  and 
legs,  keen  and  stinging  like  the  bite  of  fire-ants.  It 
took  all  the  little  fellow's  manliness  to  keep  him  from 
bellowing  aloud.  The  tears  sprang  to  his  eyes,— even 
the  son  of  a  chief  is  human  like  the  rest  of  us, — but 
he  would  not  cry. 

"What  's  all  this?"  rang  out  a  voice,  as  a  white 
man  reined  in  his  horse  beside  them— a  tall  man  in 
spectacles,  who  spoke  with  an  air  of  authority. 

The  sailor  touched  his  hat.  "  Why,  sir,  you  Jd 
scarcely  believe  it,"  he  said,  "  the  fuss  I  Ve  had  with 
this  young  savage  !  First  he  tried  to  lose  me  in  the 
woods.  I  did  n't  think  nothing  of  that ;  but  when  he 
got  me  into  a  river  for  a  swim,  and  then  made  off 

287 


Amatua's   Sailor 

with  my  clothes,  and  hid  'em  under  a  tree— I  might 
have  been  looking  for  'em  yet,  me  that  must  be  aboard 
my  ship  at  twelve  o'clock.  Why,  it  might  have  cost 
me  my  stripe  !  I  tell  you,  I  never  dreamed  of  such  a 
thing,  for  me  and  Am  have  been  friends  ever  since 
the  first  day  I  came  ashore.  He  's  no  better  than  a 
treacherous  little  what-d'ye-call-'em  !  " 

"The  chief  says  thou  hidst  his  clothes,"  said  the 
stranger,  in  the  native  language.  "He  says  thou 
triedst  to  lose  him  in  the  woods." 

"  Ask  him  if  I  have  n't  always  been  a  good  friend 
to  him,"  said  the  sailor.  "  Ask  him  who  gave  him  the 
knife  with  the  lanyard,  and  who  made  him  the  little 
spear  to  jug  fish  on  the  reef.  Just  you  ask  him  that, 
sir." 

"  Your  Highness,"  said  Amatua,  in  his  own  tongue, 
"  Bill  does  n't  understand.  I  love  Bill,  and  I  don't 
want  him  to  drown.  I  want  to  save  Bill's  high-chief 
life." 

"  And  so  thou  hidst  Bill's  clothes,"  said  the  stranger. 
"  That  was  a  fine  way  to  help  him !  " 

"  Be  not  angry,"  said  Amatua.  "  Great  is  the  wis 
dom  of  white  chiefs  in  innumerable  things,  but  there 
are  some  little,  common,  worthless  things  that  they 
don't  understand  at  all." 

"  Tell  him  I  'm  a  leading  seaman,  sir,"  went  on  Bill, 
who  of  course  understood  not  a  word  of  what  Amatua 
was  saying,  and  whose  red,  tired  face  still  showed  his 
indignation. 

"  The  old  women  say  that  a  great  evil  is  about  to 
befall  us,"  said  Amatua,  gravely,  entirely  disregarding 

288 


Amatua's   Sailor 

Bill.  "  Everybody  is  talking  of  it,  your  Highness,  even 
the  wise  minister  from  Malua  College,  Toalua,  whose 
wisdom  is  like  that  of  Solomon.  There  's  to  be  a 
storm  from  the  north— a  storm  that  will  break  the 
ships  into  ten  thousand  pieces,  and  line  the  beach 
with  dead.  Last  night  I  could  not  sleep  for  thinking 
of  Bill.  Then  I  said  to  myself,  '  I  will  lose  Bill  for 
two  days  in  the  woods,  and  then  he  won't  be  drowned 
at  all.'  But  Bill  is  wise,  and  made  the  sun  guide  him 
back  to  the  right  road.  Then  I  made  Bill  bathe,  and 
tried  to  steal  his  clothes.  But  Bill  looked  and  looked 
and  looked,  and  when  he  found  them  he  thought  I 
was  a  very  bad  boy." 

The  stranger  laughed,  and  translated  all  this  long 
explanation  to  Bill. 

"  Goodness  gracious  !  "  said  Bill.  "  Do  you  mean 
that  the  kid  believes  this  fool  superstition,  and  was 
trying  to  save  me  from  the  wreck  ? " 

"  That  's  it,"  said  the  stranger.  "  I  've  known 
Amatua  for  a  long  time,  and  I  think  he  's  a  pretty 
square  boy." 

"  Why,  bless  his  little  heart,"  said  the  sailor,  catch 
ing  up  the  boy  in  his  arms,  "  I  might  have  known  he 
could  n't  mean  no  harm  !  I  tell  you,  we  Ve  been  like 
father  and  son,  me  and  Am  has,  up  to  this  little  picnic. 
But  just  you  say  to  him,  sir,  that,  storm  or  no  storm, 
Bill's  place  is  the  post  of  duty,  and  that  he  'd  rather 
die  there  than  live  to  be  disgraced." 

But  the  white  man  had  other  work  to  do  than 
translating  for  Bill  and  Amatua.  He  rode  off  and 
left  them  to  trudge  along  on  foot.  Half  an  hour  later 

289 


Amatua' s   Sailor 

they  reached  the  beach,  and  saw  the  ships-of-war 
tugging  heavily  at  their  anchors.  The  weather  looked 
dark  and  threatening,  and  a  leaden  surf  was  pounding 
the  outer  reefs.  It  appeared  no  easy  matter  to  get 
Bill  into  the  boat  that  was  awaiting  him,  for  she  was 
full  of  men  bound  for  the  ship,  and  difficult  to  man 
age  in  the  ebb  and  sweep  of  the  seas.  Bill's  face 
grew  stern  as  he  stared  before  him.  He  walked  to 
the  end  of  the  wharf,  and  took  a  long,  hawk-like  look 
to  seaward,  never  heeding  the  shaking  woodwork  nor 
the  breakers  that  wet  him  to  the  knees.  There  was 
something  ominous  to  Amatua  in  the  sight  of  those 
deep-rolling  ships  and  the  piercing  brightness  of  their 
ensigns  and  signal-flags.  He  was  troubled,  too,  to  see 
Bill  so  reckless  in  wetting  his  beautiful  blue  trousers 
and  reducing  his  sliding  feet,  as  the  natives  call  shoes, 
his  lovely  patent-leather,  silk-laced  se'evae,  to  a  state  of 
pulp.  He  tried  to  draw  him  back,  and  pointed  to  the 
shoes  as  a  receding  wave  left  them  once  more  to  view. 
But  Bill  only  laughed,— not  one  of  his  big  hearty 
laughs,  but  the  ghost  of  a  laugh,— and  a  queer  look 
came  into  his  blue  eyes.  He  walked  slowly  back  to 
the  boat,  which  was  still  rising  and  falling  beside  the 
wharf  with  its  load  of  silent  men.  Suddenly  he  ran 
his  hand  into  his  pocket,  and  almost  before  Amatua 
could  realise  what  it  all  meant,  he  felt  Bill's  watch  in 
his  hand,  and  a  round  heavy  thing  that  was  unmistak 
ably  a  dollar,  and  something  soft  and  silken  that  could 
be  nothing  else  than  the  sailor's  precious  handker 
chief.  A  second  later  Bill  was  in  the  boat,  the  tiller 
under  his  arm,  while  a  dozen  backs  bent  to  drive  him 


Amatua's   Sailor 

seaward.  Amatua  stood  on  the  wharf  and  cried.  He 
forgot  the  watch  and  the  dollar  and  the  silk  handker 
chief ;  he  thought  only  of  Bill,— his  friend  Bill,— the 
proud  chief  who  would  rather  die  at  his  post  than 
find  a  coward's  place  on  shore.  "  Come  back,  Bill,"  he 
cried,  as  he  ran  out  to  the  end  of  the  wharf,  never 
caring  for  the  waves  that  were  dashing  higher  and 
higher.  But  the  boat  held  on  her  course,  dipping 
into  the  seas  or  rising  like  a  storm-bird  on  some  crest 
ing  comber  until  she  vanished  at  last  behind  the  tow 
ering  Trenton. 

Amatua  did  not  sob  for  long.  He  was  a  practical 
boy,  and  knew  that  it  could  not  help  Bill, — poor 
Bill!— who  already  had  all  the  salt  water  he  cared 
about.  So  Amatua  made  his  way  back  to  land,  and 
sought  out  a  quiet  spot  where  he  could  look  at  his  new 
treasure  and  calculate  on  the  most  profitable  way  of 
spending  his  dollar.  You  could  not  say  that  the 
dollar  burned  a  hole  in  his  pocket,  for  Amatua  did  not 
use  pockets,  and  his  only  clothes  consisted  of  a  little 
strip  of  very  dingy  cotton ;  but  he  was  just  as  anxious 
to  spend  it  as  an  American  boy  with  ten  pockets.  First 
he  looked  at  the  watch.  It  was  a  lovely  watch.  It 
was  none  of  your  puny  watches  such  as  white  ladies 
wear,  but  a  thumping  big  chief  of  a  watch,  thick  and 
heavy,  with  a  tick  like  a  missionary  clock.  It  was  of 
shining  silver,  and  the  back  of  it  was  all  engraved  and 
carved  with  ships  and  dolphins.  Bill  had  shown  it 
to  him  a  hundred  times  when  they  had  strolled  about 
the  town,  or  had  gone,  hand  in  hand,  in  search  of 
many  a  pleasant  adventure.  It  brought  the  tears  to 

2gi 


Amatua's   Sailor 

Amatua's  eyes  to  recall  it  all,  and  he  pushed  the  watch 
aside  to  have  a  look  at  the  handkerchief.  This  was 
another  old  friend.  It  was  of  the  softest,  thickest 
silk,  such  as  girls  delight  in,  all  red  and  green  and 
blue  and  yellow,  like  the  colours  of  a  rainbow. 

There  was  nothing  small  about  Bill.  Even  the 
dollar  seemed  bigger  and  fatter  than  any  Amatua  had 
seen ;  but  then  it  must  be  remembered  that  dollars 
had  seldom  come  his  way.  Oh,  that  dollar!  How 
was  he  to  spend  it  so  that  it  would  reach  as  far  as  two 
dollars?— a  financial  problem  every  one  has  had  to 
grapple  with  at  some  time  or  another. 

He  was  well  up  in  the  price  of  hardtack.  The  price 
fluctuated  in  Apia — all  the  way  from  twelve  for  a 
quarter  up  to  eighteen  for  a  quarter.  Quality  did  not 
count ;  at  any  rate,  Amatua  was  not  one  of  those  boys 
who  mind  a  little  mustiness  in  their  hardtack,  or  that 
slight  suspicion  of  rancid  whale-oil  which  is  a  charac 
teristic  of  the  cheaper  article.  Hardtack  was  hardtack, 
and  eighteen  were  better  than  twelve.  Here  was  one 
quarter  gone,  and  hardtack  made  way  for  soap.  Yes, 
he  must  have  soap.  Even  yesterday  old  Lu'au  had 
said :  "  War  is  a  terrible  thing.  It  makes  one's  heart 
shake  like  a  little  mouse  in  one's  body.  But  lack  of 
soap  is  worse  than  war.  You  can  get  used  to  war; 
but  who  ever  got  used  to  going  without  soap?"  Yes, 
there  must  be  soap  to  gladden  old  Lu'au.  This  meant 
another  quarter. 

As  to  the  third  purchase  there  could  be  no  man 
ner  of  doubt ;  some  'ava,  the  white,  dry  root  which, 
pounded  in  water  and  strained  by  the  dexterous  use 

292 


Amatua's   Sailor 

of  a  wisp  of  fibre,  supplies  the  Samoan  for  the  lack 
of  every  comfort.  Oh,  how  the  'ava  would  rejoice  his 
father  in  those  dismal  woods,  where  he  lay  with  the 
famishing  army,  bearing  hunger,  cold,  and  misery 
with  uncomplaining  fortitude.  And  it  should  be 
none  of  that  dusty,  spotted  stuff  that  so  many  trad 
ers  sell  to  unknowing  whites,  or  natives  in  a  hurry, 
but  the  white  'ava  from  Vaea,  which  grows  the  very 
finest  in  the  South  Seas.  And  the  last  quarter  ?  How 
was  that  to  go  ?  Was  it  to  be  a  new  lava  lava,  or  a 
white  singlet,  or  two  rusty  cans  of  salmon,  or  some 
barrel  beef?  Amatua  would  have  dearly  loved  some 
marbles ;  but  in  the  depressed  state  of  the  family's 
finances  these  were  not  to  be  thought  of.  The  beef 
was  the  thing;  the  strong,  rank  beef  that  comes  in 
barrels  j  you  could  get  a  slab  of  it  for  a  quarter,  and 
Latapie,  the  French  trader,  would  give  you  a  box  of 
matches  besides,  or  a  few  fish-hooks,  for  every  quar 
ter  you  spent  at  his  store. 

Having  finished  his  calculations,  Amatua  started  off 
to  do  his  shopping.  Even  in  the  short  time  he  had 
spent  in  the  corner  of  the  ruined  church  the  sea 
had  noticeably  risen  and  was  now  thundering  along 
the  beach,  while  on  the  reefs  a  gleaming  spray  hung 
above  the  breakers  like  a  mist.  The  stormy  sky  was 
splashed  with  ragged  clouds  and  streaked  with  flying 
scud.  At  their  moorings  the  seven  ships  rolled  under 
until  they  seemed  to  drown  the  very  muzzles  of  their 
guns ;  and  the  inky  vapour  that  oozed  from  their  fun 
nels,  and  the  incessant  shrill  shrieking  of  the  boat 
swains7  whistles,  all  told  a  tale  of  brisk  and  anxious 

293 


Amatua's   Sailor 

preparation.  "  Oh,  poor  Bill !  "  thought  Amatua,  and 
looked  away.  The  wharf  from  which  he  had  seen 
the  last  of  his  friend  was  already  a  wreck,  nothing 
showing  of  it  but  the  jagged  stumps  as  the  seas 
rolled  back. 

Two  boys  told  him  that  a  boat  of  Misi  Moa's  had 
been  smashed  to  pieces,  and  that  a  big  whaler  from 
Lufilufi  that  pulled  fifty  oars  had  shared  the  same 
fate.  Knots  of  white  traders  stood  gazing  solemnly 
out  to  sea ;  the  provost  guards  from  the  ships  were 
ransacking  the  town  for  the  few  men  they  still  missed, 
and  they  were  told  to  hurry  or  their  boats  would  never 
live  to  carry  them  back.  There  was  a  general  air  of 
apprehension  and  excitement;  people  were  nailing 
up  their  windows  and  drawing  in  their  boats  before 
the  encroaching  ocean  •  and  the  impressiveness  of 
the  situation  was  not  a  little  heightened  by  the  heavy 
guard  of  blue- jackets  lined  up  before  the  German 
consulate,  and  the  throngs  of  Tamasese's  warriors 
that  swarmed  everywhere  about,  fierce  of  mien  in 
that  unfriendly  town,  with  their  faces  blackened  for 
war,  and  their  hands  encumbered  with  rifles  and 
head-knives.  But  Amatua  had  no  time  to  think  of 
such  things  j  the  signs  of  war  were  familiar  to  him, 
and  the  armed  and  overbearing  adversaries  of  his 
tribe  and  people  were  no  longer  so  terrible  as  they 
once  had  been. 

The  increasing  roar  of  the  sea  and  the  wild  sky 
that  spoke  of  the  impending  gale  kept  the  thought 
of  Bill  close  to  his  heart,  and  he  went  about  his 
business  with  none  of  the  pleasure  that  the  spending 

294 


Amatua's   Sailor 

of  money  once  involved.  Not  that  he  forgot  his  pru 
dence  or  his  skill  at  bargaining  in  the  anxiety  for  Bill 
that  tore  his  little  heart.  By  dint  of  walking  and 
chaffering,  he  came  off  with  twenty  hardtack  for  his 
first  quarter  j  with  the  soap  he  extorted  a  package  of 
starch ;  and  after  he  had  sniffed  beef  all  the  way  from 
Sogi  to  Vaiala,— a  distance  of  two  miles,— he  became 
the  proprietor  of  a  hunk  at  least  six  ounces  heavier 
than  the  ruling  price  allowed.  The  'ava  was  of  a 
superb  quality,  fit  for  a  king  to  drink. 

It  was  late  when  Amatua  got  home  and  crept  into 
the  great  beehive  of  a  house  that  had  been  the  pride 
of  his  father's  heart.  The  girls  shouted  as  they  saw 
him,  and  old  Lu'au  clapped  her  hands  as  her  quick 
eyes  perceived  the  soap.  His  mother  alone  looked  sad 
—his  poor  mother,  who  used  to  be  so  gay  and  full  of 
fun  in  that  happy  time  before  the  war.  She  had 
never  been  the  same  since  her  cousin,  the  divinity 
student,  had  brought  back  her  brother's  head  from 
the  battle-field  of  Luatuanuu— that  terrible  battle 
field  where  the  best  blood  of  Samoa  was  poured  out 
like  water. 

She  looked  anxiously  at  Amatua's  parcels,  and 
motioned  him  to  her  side,  asking  him  in  a  low  voice 
how  and  where  he  had  got  them. 

"  It  was  this  way,"  said  Amatua.  "  Bill  and  I  are 
brothers.  What  is  mine  is  Bill's;  what  is  Bill's  is 
mine.  We  are  two,  but  in  heart  we  are  one.  That 's 
how  I  understand  Bill,  though  he  talks  only  the  white 
man's  stutter.  'Amatua,'  he  said,  just  before  he  got 
into  the  boat,— I  mean  what  he  said  in  his  heart,  for 


Amatua's   Sailor 

there  was  not  time  for  words,— l  we  are  all  of  us  in 
God's  high-chief  hands  this  day ;  a  storm  is  coming, 
and  my  place  is  on  my  ship,  where  I  shall  live  or  be 
cast  away,  as  God  wills.  Take  you  this  dollar  and 
spend  it  with  care  for  the  comfort  of  all  our  family ; 
take  my  very  valuable  watch,  that  ticks  louder  than  a 
missionary  clock,  and  my  handkerchief  of  silk,  the  like 
of  which  there  is  not  in  Samoa,  and  keep  them  for  me. 
My  life  is  God's  alone,  but  these  things  belong  to  all 
of  our  family.  Stand  firm  in  the  love  of  God,  and 
strengthen  your  heart  to  obey  his  high-chief  will.' " 

It  was  late  when  Amatua  awoke.  The  house  was 
empty  save  for  old  Lu'au,  who  was  kindling  a  fire  on 
the  hearth.  A  strange  uproar  filled  the  air,  the  like 
of  which  Amatua  had  never  heard  before— the  tramp 
of  multitudes  as  they  rushed  and  shouted,  deafening 
explosions,  and  the  shrill,  high  scream  of  the  long- 
expected  gale.  Amatua  leaped  from  his  mats,  girded 
up  his  loin-cloth,  and  ran  headlong  into  the  night.  It 
was  piercing  cold,  and  he  shivered  like  a  leaf,  but  he 
took  thought  of  nothing.  He  ran  for  the  beach,  which 
lay  at  no  great  distance  from  his  father's  house,  and 
was  soon  panting  down  the  lane  beside  Mr.  Eldridge's 
store.  It  was  flaming  with  lights  and  filled  with  a 
buzzing  crowd  of  whites  and  natives ;  and  on  the  front 
verandah  there  lay  the  dripping  body  of  a  sailor  with  a 
towel  over  his  upturned  face.  The  beach  was  jammed 
with  people,  and  above  the  fury  of  the  gale  and  the 
roaring  breakers  which  threatened  to  engulf  the  very 
town  there  rang  out  the  penetrating  voices  of  the 


296 


Amatua's   Sailor 

old  war  chiefs  as  they  vociferated  their  orders  and 
formed  up  their  men.  Even  as  Amatua  stood  dazed 
and  almost  crushed  in  the  mob,  there  was  a  sudden 
roar,  a  rush  of  feet,  and  a  narrow  lane  opened  to 
a  dozen  powerful  men  springing  through  with  the 
bodies  of  two  sailors. 

Amatua  turned  and  fought  his  way  seaward,  bor 
ing  through  the  crowd  to  where  the  seas  swept  up  to 
his  ankles,  and  he  could  make  out  the  lights  of  the 
men-of-war.  There  was  a  ship  on  the  reef ;  he  could 
see  the  stupendous  tangle  of  her  yards  and  rigging  • 
every  wave  swept  in  some  of  her  perishing  crew.  The 
undertow  ran  out  like  a  mill-race ;  living  men  were 
tossed  up  the  beach  like  corks,  only  to  be  sucked 
back  again  to  destruction.  The  Samoans  were  work 
ing  with  desperation  to  save  the  seamen's  lives,  and 
more  than  one  daring  rescuer  was  himself  swept  into 
the  breakers. 

Amatua  found  himself  beside  a  man  who  had  just 
been  relieved,  and  was  thunderstruck  to  find  that  it 
was  no  other  than  Oa,  an  old  friend  of  his,  who  had 
been  in  the  forest  with  Mataafa. 

"How  do  you  happen  here,  Chief  Oa?"  shouted 
Amatua. 

"  The  Tamaseses  have  retired  on  Mulinuu,"  said  Oa. 
"  It  is  Mataafa's  order  that  we  come  and  save  what 
lives  we  can." 

"  Germans,  too  1 "  asked  Amatua,  doubtfully,  never 
forgetful  of  his  father's  wound,  or  of  his  uncle  who 
fell  at  Luatuanuu. 

"We  are  not  at  war  with  God/'  said  the  chief,. 

297 


Amatua's   Sailor 

sternly.  "  To-night  there  is  peace  in  every  man's 
heart." 

Amatua  stood  long  beside  his  friend,  peering  into 
that  great  void  in  which  so  many  men  were  giving  up 
their  lives.  Sometimes  he  could  make  out  the  dim 
hulls  of  ships  when  they  loomed  against  the  sky-line 
or  as  the  heavens  brightened  for  an  instant.  Bodies 
kept  constantly  washing  in,  nearly  all  of  them  Ger 
mans,  as  Amatua  could  tell  by  their  uniforms,  or,  if 
these  were  torn  from  them  in  the  merciless  waters,  by 
the  prevalence  of  yellow  hair  and  fair  skins.  Amatua 
shrank  from  the  sight  of  these  limp  figures,  and  it  was 
only  his  love  for  Bill  that  kept  him  on  the  watch.  Poor 
Bill !  How  had  he  fared  this  night  ?  Was  he  even  now 
tumbling  in  the  mighty  rollers,  his  last  duty  done  on 
this  sorrowful  earth,  his  brave  heart  still  for  ever  ? 
Or  did  he  lie,  as  so  many  lay  that  night  here  and  there 
about  the  town,  wrapped  in  blankets  in  some  white 
man's  house  or  native  chiefs,  safe  and  sound,  beside 
a  blazing  fire  ? 

Amatua  at  last  grew  tired  of  waiting  there  beside 
Oa.  The  cold  ate  into  his  very  bones,  and  the  crowd 
pressed  and  trampled  on  him  without  ceasing.  He 
cared  for  nothing  so  long  as  he  thought  he  might  find 
Bill ;  but  he  now  despaired  of  that  and  began  to  think 
of  his  tired  little  self.  He  forced  his  way  back,  and 
moved  aimlessly  along  from  house  to  house,  looking 
in  at  the  lighted  windows  in  the  vain  hope  of  seeing 
Bill.  Of  dead  men  there  were  plenty,  but  he  could 
not  bear  to  look  at  them  too  closely.  He  was  worn 
out  by  the  horror  and  excitement  he  had  undergone, 


298 


Amatua' s   Sailor 

and  when  his  eyes  closed,  as  they  sometimes  would, 
he  seemed  to  see  Bill's  face  dancing  before  him.  He 
was  a  very  tired  boy  by  the  time  he  made  his  way 
home  and  threw  himself  once  again  on  the  mats 
in  that  empty  house. 

It  was  a  strange  sight  that  met  Amatua's  gaze 
the  next  day  on  the  Apia  beach.  The  wind  had 
fallen,  and  the  mountainous  waves  of  the  previ 
ous  night  had  given  way  to  a  heavy  ground-swell. 
But  the  ships,  the  wreckage  of  ships,  the  ten  thousand 
and  one  things— the  million  and  one  things— which 
lined  the  beach  for  a  distance  of  two  miles !  One 
German  man-of-war  had  gone  down  with  every  soul 
on  board;  another— the  Adler— lay  broken-backed 
and  sideways  on  the  reef;  the  Olcja  had  been  run 
ashore,  and  looked  none  the  worse  for  her  adventure. 
The  United  States  ship  Vandalia  was  a  total  wreck, 
and  half  under  water;  close  to  her  lay  the  Trenton, 
with  her  gun-deck  awash ;  and  within  a  pistol-shot  of 
both  was  the  old  Nipsic,  her  nose  high  on  land. 
The  British  ship,  the  Calliope,  was  nowhere  to  be  seen, 
having  forced  her  way  to  sea  in  the  teeth  of  the  hur 
ricane. 

Amatua  went  almost  crazy  at  the  sight  of  what  lay 
strewn  on  the  beach  that  morning.  He  ran  hither  and 
thither,  picking  up  one  thing  and  then  throwing  it 
away  for  another  he  liked  better :  here  an  officer's  full- 
dress  coat  gleaming  with  gold  lace,  there  a  photo 
graph-album  in  a  wof  ul  state,  some  twisted  rifles,  and 
a  broom ;  everywhere  an  extraordinary  hotchpotch  of 
things  diverse  and  innumerable.  Amatua  found  an 

299 


Amatua's   Sailor 

elegant  sword  not  a  bit  the  worse  for  its  trip  ashore, 
an  officer's  gold-laced  cap,  and  a  ditty-box,  full  of  pins 
and  needles  and  sewing-gear  and  old  letters.  He 
would  also  have  carried  off  a  tempting  little  cannon 
had  it  weighed  anything  under  a  quarter  of  a  ton; 
as  it  was,  he  covered  it  with  sand,  and  stood  up  the 
broom  to  mark  the  place,  which,  strange  to  say,  he  has 
never  been  able  to  find  since.  He  got  a  cracked  bell 
next,  a  tin  of  pork  and  beans,  a  bottle  of  varnish,  a 
one-pound  Hotchkiss  shell,  a  big  platter,  and  a  Ger 
man  flag !  This  he  thought  enough  for  one  load,  and 
made  his  triumphant  way  home,  where  he  tried  pork 
and  beans  for  the  first  time  in  his  life— and  did  not 
like  them. 

It  would  have  fared  badly  with  him,  for  there  was 
nothing  in  the  house  for  him  to  eat  save  a  few  green 
bananas,  had  it  not  been  for  the  Samoan  pastor  next 
door.  The  pastor  had  hauled  a  hundred-pound  bar 
rel  of  prime  mess  pork  out  of  the  surf,  and  in  the 
fulness  of  his  heart  he  was  dividing  slabs  of  it  among 
his  parishioners.  Another  neighbour  had  salvaged 
eleven  cans  of  biscuit-pulp,  which,  though  a  trifle  salt, 
was  yet  good  enough  to  eat. 

In  fact,  Amatua  ate  a  rather  hearty  breakfast,  and 
lingered  longer  over  it  than  perhaps  was  well  for 
the  best  interests  of  his  family.  By  the  time  he  re 
turned  to  the  beach  the  cream  had  been  skimmed 
from  the  milk.  True,  there  was  no  lack  of  machinery 
and  old  iron,  and  mountains  of  tangled  rope  and 
other  ship's  gear ;  but  there  was  no  longer  the  gor 
geous  profusion  of  smaller  articles,  for  ten  thousand 

300 


Amatua's   Sailor 

busy  hands  had  been  at  work  since  dawn.  Amatua 
searched  for  an  hour,  and  got  nothing  but  a  squashy 
stamp- album  and  a  musical  box  in  the  last  stages  of 
dissolution. 

He  realised  regretfully  that  he  could  hope  for 
nothing  more,  and  after  trading  his  album  to  a  half- 
caste  boy  for  a  piece  of  lead,  and  exchanging  the  musi 
cal  box  for  six  marbles,  he  again  bent  his  energies  to 
the  finding  of  Bill. 

For  fear  of  a  conflict,  the  naval  commanders  had 
divided  their  forces.  The  Germans  were  encamped  at 
one  end  of  the  town,  the  Americans  at  the  other,  and 
armed  sentries  paced  between.  Amatua  had  never 
seen  so  many  white  men  in  his  life,  and  he  knew 
scarcely  which  way  to  turn  first.  He  was  bewildered  by 
the  jostling  host  that  encompassed  him  on  every  side, 
by  the  busy  files  that  were  marshalled  away  to  work, 
the  march  and  countermarch  of  disciplined  feet,  the 
shrill  pipe  of  the  boatswains'  calls,  and  the  almost 
ceaseless  bugling.  He  looked  long  and  vainly  for  Bill 
in  every  nook  and  cranny  of  the  town.  He  watched 
beside  the  Nipsic  for  an  hour ;  he  forced  the  guard 
house,  and  even  made  his  way  into  the  improvised 
hospital,  dodging  the  doctors  and  the  tired  orderlies. 
But  all  in  vain.  He  trudged  into  Savalalo  and  Songi, 
where  the  Germans  were  gathered,  fearing  lest  Bill 
might  have  been  thrown  into  chains  by  those  haughty 
foemen;  but  he  found  nothing  but  rows  of  dead, 
and  weary  men  digging  graves.  He  stopped  offi 
cers  on  the  street,  and  kind-faced  seamen  and 
marines,  and  asked  them  earnestly  if  they  had  seen 

301 


Amatua's   Sailor 

Bill.  Some  paid  no  attention  to  him ;  others  laughed 
aud  passed  on ;  one  man  slapped  him  in  the  face. 

When  he  came  back  from  the  German  quarter  he 
found  a  band  playing  in  front  of  Mr.  Moors's  store, 
and  noticed  sentries  about  the  place,  and  important- 
looking  officers,  with  swords  and  pistols.  He  was 
told  that  the  admiral  was  up-stairs,  and  that  Mr. 
Moors's  house  was  now  the  headquarters  of  the  Ameri 
can  forces.  A  great  resolution  welled  up  in  Amatua's 
heart.  If  there  was  one  man  on  earth  that  ought  to 
know  about  Bill,  it  was  the  admiral.  Amatua  dodged 
a  sentry,  and  running  up  the  steps,  he  crept  along 
the  verandah,  and  peeped  into  the  room  which  Kim- 
berly  had  exchanged  for  his  sea-swept  cabin.  The 
admiral  sat  at  a  big  table  strewn  inches  high  with 
papers,  reports,  and  charts.  He  was  writing  in  his 
shirt-sleeves,  and  on  the  chair  beside  him  lay  his 
uniform  coat  and  gold-laced  cap.  At  another  table 
two  men  were  also  writing ;  at  another  a  single  man 
was  nibbling  a  pen  as  he  stared  at  the  paper  before 
him.  It  reminded  Amatua  of  the  pastor's  school. 
Half  a  dozen  officers  stood  grouped  in  one  corner, 
whispering  to  one  another,  their  hands  resting  on  their 
swords.  It  was  all  as  quiet  as  church,  and  nothing 
could  be  heard  but  the  scratch  of  pens  as  they  raced 
across  the  paper.  Suddenly  a  frowning  officer  noticed 
Amatua  at  the  door.  "  Orderly/7  he  cried,  "  drive 
away  that  boy  "5  and  Amatua  was  ignominiously 
seized,  led  down-stairs,  and  thrown  roughly  into  the 
street. 

Amatua  cried  as  though  his  little  heart  would  break. 

302 


Amatua's   Sailor 

He  sat  on  the  front  porch  of  the  house,  careless  of  the 
swarming  folk  about  him,  and  took  a  melancholy 
pleasure  in  being  jostled  and  trampled  on.  Oh,  it  was 
a  miserable  world  !  Bill  was  gone,  and  any  one  could 
cuff  a  little  boy.  More  than  one  sailor  patted  his 
curly  head  and  lifted  him  in  the  air  and  kissed  him ; 
but  Amatua  was  too  sore  to  care  for  such  atten 
tions.  It  was  cruel  to  think  that  the  one  man  alone 
in  Samoa  who  knew  where  to  find  Bill,  the  great  chief- 
captain  up-stairs,  was  absolutely  beyond  his  power  to 
reach.  This  thought  was  unbearable ;  he  nerved  him 
self  to  try  again ;  he  recalled  the  admiral's  face,  which 
was  not  unkindly,  though  sad  and  stern.  After  all, 
nothing  worse  could  befall  him  than  a  beating.  Again 
he  dodged  the  lower  sentry,  and  sprang  up  the  stairs 
like  a  cat.  Again  he  gazed  into  that  quiet  room  and 
listened  to  the  everlasting  pens.  This  time  he  was 
discovered  in  an  instant ;  the  orderly  pounced  at  him, 
but  Amatua,  with  his  heart  in  his  mouth,  rushed 
towards  the  admiral,  and  threw  himself  on  his  knees 
beside  him.  The  old  man  put  a  protecting  arm 
round  his  neck,  and  the  orderly,  foiled  in  the  chase, 
could  do  nothing  else  than  salute. 

"Anderson,"  said  the  admiral  to  an  officer,  "  it  is 
the  second  time  the  boy  has  been  here.  I  tell  you  he 
is  after  something,  and  we  are  not  in  a  position  to 
disregard  anything  in  this  extraordinary  country.  He 
may  have  a  message  from  King  Mataafa.  Send  for 
Moors." 

In  a  few  moments  that  gentleman  appeared,  and  was 
bidden  to  ask  Amatua  what  he  wanted.  The  officers 

3°3 


Amatua's   Sailor 

gathered  close  behind  their  chief,  and  even  the  assidu 
ous  writers  looked  up. 

"  What  does  he  want?"  demanded  the  admiral,  who 
had  no  time  to  spare. 

"  He  wants  to  find  a  sailor  named  Bill,"  said  Moors. 
11  He  's  afraid  Bill  is  drowned,  and  thought  he  would 
ask  you." 

Every  one  smiled  save  the  admiral.  "  Are  you  sure 
that  is  all  ? "  he  said. 

"He  says  he  loved  Bill  very  much,"  said  Moors, 
"and  has  searched  the  beach  and  the  hospital  and 
even  the  lock-up  without  finding  him.  Says  he  even 
waited  alongside  the  Nipsic  for  an  hour." 

"  Half  my  men  are  named  Bill,"  said  Kimberly ; 
"  but  I  fear  his  Bill  is  numbered  with  the  rest  of  our 
brave  fellows  who  went  down  last  night.  Moors,"  he 
went  on,  "  take  the  lad  below,  and  give  him  any  little 
thing  he  fancies  in  the  store." 

Amatua  did  not  know  what  might  happen  next, 
but  he  bravely  tramped  beside  Mr.  Moors,  prepared 
to  face  the  worst.  He  felt  dizzy  and  faint  when  they 
got  below,  and  Mr.  Moors  popped  him  up  on  the 
counter,  and  asked  him  whether  he  would  prefer 
candy  or  some  marbles.  "The  great  chief -captain 
said  thou  wert  a  brave  boy,  and  should  have  a  pres 
ent,"  said  Mr.  Moors. 

Amatua  shook  his  head.  Somehow  he  had  lost 
interest  in  such  trifles.  "  Thank  his  Majesty  the  ad 
miral,"  he  said,  "but  an  aching  heart  takes  no  plea 
sure  in  such  things.  With  thy  permission  I  will  go 
out  and  look  again  for  Bill.  Perhaps,  if  I  change 

3°4 


Amatua's   Sailor 

my  mind,  I  will  come  back  and  choose  marbles/'  he 
added  cautiously ;  and  with  that  he  scrambled  off  the 
counter  and  made  for  the  door. 

"  Oh,  Bostock,"  cried  Moors  to  a  naval  officer  loung 
ing  on  the  front  verandah,  "  if  you  have  nothing  better 
to  do,  just  take  this  kid  along  with  you.  He  7s  crazy 
to  find  a  sailor  named  Bill,  and  he  is  n't  sure  but 
that  he  was  drowned  last  night.  He  must  be  pretty 
well  cut  up  if  he  won't  take  any  marbles." 

Bostock  stopped  Amatua,  and  took  his  hand  in  his 
own.  "  We  '11  go  find  Bill,"  he  said. 

Again  was  the  search  begun  for  Bill,  along  the 
main  street ;  in  the  alleys,  and  through  the  scattered 
native  settlements  behind  the  town  as  far  as  the 
Uvea  huts,  at  Vaimoso,  and  the  slums  of  the  Nieue 
Islanders.  Bostock  let  no  seaman  pass  unnoticed-, 
a  heavy  fatigue-party  coming  back  from  work  on 
the  wrecks — sixty  men  and  four  officers — were  lined 
up  at  his  request,  and  Amatua  was  led  through  the 
disciplined  ranks  in  search  of  Bill.  Even  the  Nipsic 
was  boarded  by  the  indefatigable  Bostock  and  the 
weary  little  boy;  and  although  repairs  were  being 
rushed  at  a  tremendous  pace,  and  every  one  looked 
overdriven  and  out  of  temper,  the  huge  ship  was 
overhauled  from  top  to  bottom.  From  the  grimy 
stoke-hole,  where  everything  dripped  oil  and  the  heat 
was  insupportable,  to  the  great  maintop  where  men 
were  busy  at  the  rigging;  from  the  crowded  quar 
ters  of  the  seamen  to  the  sodden  and  salt-smelling 
mess-room,  in  which  the  red  came  off  the  cushions  like 
blood,  the  pair  made  their  way  in  search  of  Bill. 

305 


Amatua's   Sailor 

Bostock  led  the  boy  back  to  land,  and  said  good 
bye  to  him  at  the  corner  of  the  Apia  Hotel.  He 
tried  to  raise  his  spirits,  and  atone  for  their  failure 
to  find  Bill,  by  the  present  of  a  shilling.  Amatua 
accepted  it  with  quiet  gratitude,  although  the  gift 
had  not  the  cheering  effect  that  Bostock  desired.  The 
little  fellow  was  sick  at  heart,  and  all  the  shillings  in 
the  world  could  not  have  consoled  him  for  the  loss  of 
Bill.  The  naval  officer  followed  him  with  his  eyes  as 
he  trudged  sorrowfully  home.  He,  too,  had  lost  a  life 
long  friend  in  that  awful  night. 

Amatua  gave  up  all  hope  of  ever  seeing  Bill  again, 
as  time  slipped  away  and  one  day  melted  into  another. 
He  made  friends  with  Bostock,  and  spent  many  a 
pleasant  hour  in  the  company  of  that  jovial  officer, 
following  him  about  everywhere  like  a  dog ;  but  for 
all  that  he  did  not  love  him  as  he  had  loved  Bill. 
Those  were  exciting  times  in  Apia,  and  there  was 
much  to  amuse  and  distract  a  little  boy.  In  the 
day  Bill  often  passed  from  his  thoughts,  for  the  in 
cessant  panorama  life  had  now  become  almost  pre 
cluded  any  other  thought  j  but  at  night,  when  he 
awoke  in  the  early  hours  and  heard  the  cocks  calling, 
then  it  was  that  his  heart  turned  to  Bill  and  overflowed 
with  grief  for  his  lost  friend. 

Two  days  after  the  storm— two  as  men  count,  but 
centuries  in  Amatua's  calendar— the  British  ship 
Calliope  returned  to  port,  strained  and  battered  by  that 
terrible  hour  when  she  had  pitted  her  engines  against 
the  gale  and  taken  her  desperate  dash  for  freedom. 

But  Amatua's  little  head  was  far  too  full  of  some- 

306 


Amatua's   Sailor 

thing  else  for  him  to  bother  about  another  man-of- 
war.  Bostock  had  promised  to  take  him  to  the  raft 
where  men  were  diving  for  the  Trenton's  treasure- 
chest.  He  knew  all  about  men-of-war  by  this  time, 
for  he  had  the  freedom  of  the  Nipsitfs  ward-room, 
and  he  took  breakfast  regularly  with  his  friends,  the 
officers.  They  had  given  him  a  gold-laced  cap  and  a 
tin  sword,  and  the  tailor  had  made  him  a  blue  jacket 
with  shoulder-straps  and  brass  buttons  and  the  stripes 
of  a  second  lieutenant.  He  had  his  own  appointed 
station  when  the  ship  beat  to  quarters ;  for  the  Nipsic 
had  been  got  safely  off  the  reef  and  once  more  divided 
the  waters  of  the  bay. 

It  was  a  beautiful  morning  when  they  pulled  out  in 
a  shore  boat  to  the  raft  where  the  work  was  in  progress. 
As  the  Americans  possessed  no  diving  apparatus,  Kane, 
the  British  captain,  had  lent  them  the  one  he  carried, 
with  six  good  men  who  had  some  experience  in  such 
matters.  Amatua  was  disappointed  to  find  so  little  to 
interest  him.  He  examined  the  pump  with  which  two 
men  were  keeping  life  in  the  diver  below;  but  he 
could  not  understand  the  sense  of  it,  and  the  continu 
ous  noise  soon  grew  monotonous.  Except  a  tin  pail 
containing  the  men's  lunch,  the  brass-bound  breaker 
of  drinking  water,  and  some  old  clothes,  there  was 
nothing  in  the  world  to  attract  a  small  boy.  Ama 
tua  stood  beside  Bostock  and  yawned;  the  little 
second  lieutenant  longed  to  be  on  shore  playing 
marbles  with  his  friends  in  civil  life.  He  was  half 
asleep  when  Bostock  plucked  his  arm  and  pointed 
into  the  depths  beneath.  A  glittering  shell-fish  of 

307 


Amatua' s   Sailor 

ponderous  weight  and  monstrous  size  was  slowly  ris 
ing  to  the  surface.  Every  one  rushed  to  the  side  of 
the  raft,  save  only  the  two  men  at  the  pumps,  who 
went  on  unmoved.  Amatua  clung  to  Bostock. 
Higher  and  higher  came  the  hideous  shell-fish,  until 
its  great,  goggling-eyed  head  appeared  horribly  above 
the  water.  Amatua  turned  faint.  The  crew  be 
haved  with  incredible  daring,  and  seized  the  huge, 
bulging  thing  with  the  utmost  fearlessness.  It  was 
frightful  to  see  it  step  on  the  raft  and  toil  pain 
fully  to  the  centre,  as  though  it  had  been  wounded  in 
some  mortal  part.  One  of  the  men  lifted  a  hammer 
as  though  to  kill  it,  and  began  to  tap,  tap,  tap  on 
some  weak  spot  in  the  neck.  Then  he  threw  down 
the  hammer,  detached  the  long  suckers  which  reached 
from  the  beast's  snout,  and  started  to  unscrew  its  very 
head  from  its  body.  Amatua  looked  on  confounded ; 
he  was  shaking  with  horror,  yet  the  fascination  of 
that  brassy  monster  drew  him  close. 

Suddenly  the  creature  sank  on  its  knees,  and  the 
man  gripped  the  head  in  both  his  hands  and  lifted  it 
up.  And  underneath,  wonder  of  wonders !  there  was 
the  face  of  a  man— a  white  man. 

And  the  white  man  was  Bill ! 

With  a  cry  Amatua  threw  himself  into  his  friend's 
arms,  dripping  though  he  was.  What  did  he  care  for 
the  fine  uniform,  now  that  Bill  was  found  again ! 

"And  where  have  you  been  all  this  time?"  asked 
Bostock. 

"  Oh,  1 'm  the  boatswain's  mate  of  the  Calliope"  said 

308 


Amatua's   Sailor 

Bill ;  "  and  what  with  the  knocking  about  we  got,  I  've 
been  kept  hard  at  it  on  the  rigging." 

"  You  have  been  badly  missed,"  said  Bostock. 

"  Bless  his  old  heart ! "  said  the  sailor,  "  I  think  a 
lot  of  my  little  Am." 


3°9 


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